The Daily Fuss

Date With Leighton

Leighton needed some mommy time. Okay, fine. Maybe it's the other way around, but no matter. Lei happily accepted my offer to take her to her very first movie in the "thee-ay-ter".

The Muppets.

It's playing at Northbrook, so we decided that Ryan and Mairin would mill around the mall while we went to the movies. We would regroup afterwords for dinner at California Pizza Kitchen.

Sidebar: I love CPK. The food is consistent. Prices are reasonable. There are plenty of healthy options for kids and grownups and they serve alcohol. Perfect. Did I mention that they serve alcohol?

Leighton carefully readied herself for our date in a way that let me know she understood just how important the outing was for me. I haven't spent a large chunk of time with just Lei for a while now and was looking forward to some bonding.

My peanut picked out some textured tights, pink corduroy skirt and a white top with tulle at the collar - a good look for a two-and-a-half year-old to be sure.

We sang and danced to Let's Go To the Movies from Annie while we dressed.

Lei then took it several steps further and accessorized herself with sparkly shoes, a hair bow clip, a necklace and one of my purses from I couldn't even tell you when.

I think "embellishment" is one of her favorite words. In fact, I'm certain of this.

As we walked through the mall, Lei turned heads with her confident little gait. "What a girly girl." "She's so cute." "Look at those shoes."

She was oblivious to the attention, which pleased me immensely. She was only going about her business, after all.

We left Mairin and daddy at the entrance to the theater, picked up our tickets and headed straight for the snack counters. Out of all the candy, crap and junk food she could have chosen, Leighton settled on fruit snacks.

God bless her.

So I talked her into ordering a white cherry ICEE to wash them down. She later admitted that it was a smart decision.

She was mildly irritated by the previews, but loved the Toy Story short film and Muppets feature. She bounced around during the musical numbers and clapped at the end.

We saw a two-hour kids version of The Nutcracker last month and she got antsy half-way through. But for these Muppets, she made a little camp in her seat, ate her snacks and gingerly sipped her ICEE - taking it in and out of the cupholder a thousand intriguing times.

For the undisputed littlest ticketholder in the thee-ay-ter, she behaved perfectly.

We had a lovely dinner, fish tacos for mom, bbq chicken salad for dad, banana and avocado for Mairin and grilled chicken and broccoli for Leighton. She cleaned her plate and we made our way home.

We stopped at Walgreens on the way home to get more kid toothpaste (mint is too "spicy") and Lei said she couldn't wait to brush her teeth. She went straight upstairs and did just that when we arrived home. And put on her PJs and went to sleep.

Thank you my sweet little Leighton for the absolute best date EVER.

Resolve Part I: Whooping It Up

I love January first. I love it every single year.

Sweeping glitter into a pile whilst sipping a mimosa sets me up for the catharsis I will soon experience - making my list of resolutions and updating our financial spreadsheet.

Ahh bliss.

January first offers a clean start - one that is best savored when we've fully and completely whooped it up the previous evening.

In anticipation of said "whooping" I spent an hour on friday looting Party City for hats, noisemakers, horns, balloons and tiaras - color coordinated with plastic table cloths, cups, plates and champagne flutes - for our new year's bash. To attend: me, Ryan, Leighton, Mairin, Luella, Uncle Pete and Auntie Leah. 

Leighton was understandably excited when I unloaded the Balloon Time helium kit from the car.

I would have left it outside until it was time to decorate, but I was worried that tank pressure would suffer in the cold (and my sadistic side was clearly in the mood to torture a wee child) so I brought it in.

Lei asked me to blow up the balloons no less than one billion times over the course of the next twenty-four hours.

Once Pete and Leah arrived and we kicked our kid new year into high gear, the inflation began.

We got 45 big balloons out of the deal, and I am happy to report that Leighton didn't let go of them all night. Several popped over the course of the evening's balloon abuse, but by kid midnight 9pm, Lei still had a respectable handful of ribbons to clutch.

        
We let go of those balloons over and over and over yelling "Happy New Year" as we danced and sang and talked and laughed and spilled our way into 2012.

The exhausted kids went down around 9:45 and for the first night in a long while, both slept for a solid five or six hours without so much as a peep.

The grown-ups (if you could characterize us as such by this point) talked and laughed and drank and spilled on into the wee hours, squeezing every last drop of fun out of 2011.

It was a fabulous end to a fabulous year.

Bad Dog Ma

Luella, my four pound Yorkshire Terrier, is our first baby.

She has a full wardrobe, gets her chicken treats in the morning and sleeps in our bed at night.  

She is allowed up on the furniture, uses the outdoor "facilities" during the day and has a potty paper upstairs to use at her discretion in the evenings.

Lue is going to be eight years young this year. Although, we have found her to be a bit of an old soul from the start. If Luella were a human, she'd play bridge, drink dirty martinis, curse like a long shoreman and (quite possibly) smoke.

She has her vices.

Historically, Lue has gone to the fancy vet in the city every year for her checkups. I like this particular vet because they do blood work before dental cleanings to make sure Lue can handle the anesthesia. During the dental, Lue is fully intubated and receiving fluids to quickly flush the drugs out of her teeny system.

Hundreds of dollars later, I have peace of mind and Lulu's teeth are clean.

I have yet to find such a vet in Highland Park - not because one does not exist, but because I keep making appointments in the city and then canceling them because I work and spending four hours taking Lue to the vet isn't feasible.

Here's a tip, I am rarely realistic. Most of the time, I deliver on my overreaching overachieverness. Sometimes ... not so much.

It's a vicious cycle, much like the one my hair is experiencing right now because my colorist is in the city and I actually can't find ANYONE in Highland Park that can highlight me like Tracy. I look like hell.

Happy Holidays.

Luella's last cleaning was shockingly only as recent as May 2010. Unfortunately, I have brushed her little pearls maybe ten to fifteen times since Mairin was born. Her teeth are so dirty and A FEW ON THE BOTTOM ARE LOOSE!

I feel so guilty. I am the worst dog mom ever. I have sacrificed the dental health of my very first baby for lack of time and attention. I have sacrificed Lue's adorable little teeth for my other children.

It's not the only notable difference for Luella from B.K. (before kids) to A.K. (after kids). Lue waits longer than ever between trips outside. She is ignored for a spell during the day and gets bounced around at night when the little sisters meander into our bed.

On the bright side ( and because the prospect of rotting dog teeth should have a silver lining) she islearning to hang with the squad in situations where she should have normally slunk off to bed midday.

For example, visiting my inlaws this past weekend, a friend was first to the party with her six and eight year-old boys. No less than four minutes into the visit, I heard the older boy say, "Look  mom! I finally caught him!" As I turned in movie-slow-motion, I saw a blur of black and tan fur and grey and pink argyle sweater vest (yes, Lue's) leap from the boys arms and tumble to the hardwood floor head first.

I freaked out, snatched up poor Lue and ran out of the room. She was fine, but so scared that she pooped all over me. The only clean shirt I had left was a loungy pyjama top. Out of choices, I sucked it up and rejoined the group as other guests began to arrive.

Lue sucked it up too. She jumped back into the fray immediately, barking at the kids and mingling with with the crowd, hopeful that bits of barbeque would fall from a plate or two down to her domain.

This behavior is atypical for Ms. Luella. Both Ryan and I were proud at her newly-found resilience.

I convinced myself that Yorkie teeth are notoriously bad and that no matter how much I brush, they will become harder to maintain as she ages. I also decided that rehabilitating what was once a painfully shy little dog is more important and that I'm not such a bad dog mom after all.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  

We'll see what our new vet has to say about it.  We have an appointment with the Highland Park vet at noon.

Santa Stalking

This year, Leighton is entirely into Santa.

So far, we've seen Santa at the Highland Park tree lighting and on the Polar Express train ride.  We need to stop at a mall or two for pictures. And, if we're lucky, he'll make a quick stop at my grandma's party on Christmas Eve before embarking on his trip around the world to deliver presents.

This is so much fun!

Mairin is suspicious of the whole giant, bearded elf, clad head to toe in red fur. She peers at him as if to say, "You're no Elmo, buddy." And that's it for her ... most likely until next year.

Still, both girls seem to be enjoying the endless barrage of holiday-themed events, songs, art projects, movies and Christmas list crafting.

A Cloak (like Ella of Frell), pink guitar and doll house are on Leighton's list. She says Marinka Dinka would like teething toys, but Mairin says she would like "whatever Leighton gets."

 Ho! Ho! Ho!

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).

Big Girl Shoes

She begged me to let her try on my shoes.

I said, "no". And she asked, "why?" And I told her, "I don't want you to ruin them before I even get to wear them."

And she asked, "why?"

I didn't have the time to explain that I felt I deserved to wear them for the first time - damage free.

And, I didn't have the heart to tell her that with those sparkly Badgley Mischkas comes much more responsibility than she could possibly understand.

I would have to tell her that those shoes come with a job ... nay ... a career attached to them.

I would say that I must drive to and from meetings in the city, in my minivan on conference calls while pumping and doing my makeup so I can wear those shoes.

I would explain how desperately I try to wrap up my work work day by 5:30 so I can send the nanny home and be truly present while getting the little ones fed and bathed, so daddy can get some quality time in before putting Lei to bed.

Those shoes come with a tremendous amount of concern over bumps, bruises, choking, cavities, sunburns and bug bites and excessive fear of the day my kids will be old enough to drive a car.

Those shoes come with mortgages and retirement accounts and a roof that needs fixing and a garage that needs rebuilding and condo tenants in need of a brand new dishwasher because they somehow managed to break the one we have.

Those shoes ignore my husband sometimes and that isn't fair. 

I suppose I could have couched my denial of her request in terms that she'd somewhat understand - such as, "Those shoes are worth a thousand poopy diaper changes and hundreds of 2 a.m. feedings." But it wouldn't have mattered. She really really wanted to try them on.

Admittedly, tied to those shoes is a strong desire to be more fashionable than I actually am at this phase of my mommy life. The shoes do help that cause. I swear.

I still need to lose the baby weight I packed on with Mairin and those five inch heels make me look two pounds thinner than my four inch heels. Somehow, five minus four equals two in this instance.

I need those shoes.

And they need me.

And I promise you, those are the ridiculous things that went through my mind when she begged and pleaded and whined until I let her try them on.

She struggled a few smiling, shuffling steps on her tippy toes in those shoes and then gingerly stepped out.

She assured me, "These are too hard mama. These are your shoes."

I smiled and nodded and said "no shit" to myself. Someday I will explain the whole thing to her.

Someday.

Happy Birthday Grandma

When you want a kid to do something (i.e. sing Happy Birthday on camera, they may or may not do it just the way you'd like. It's likely spontaneous and if it happens then "great" if it doesn't "oh well".

When you really really want a kid to do something, there is a chance that you may have been discussing it for several days previous.

There is a distinct possibility that the kid will sense the importance of the aforementioned task and start to act like a nut and/or total weirdo. What would have been a fun and simple task now involves rehearsal, bribery, cajoling and wrangling.

This song for grandma involved many takes, all of which were fun to record and funny to witness. In hindsight, I shouldn't have built it up to be the be-all-end-all of birthday wishes because Leighton was ten kinds of crazy by the time we started recording.

We opened with a "Dear You Grandma" on the blanket. 

 

Once we started to smother little sis, we moved to the couch for another non-traditional rendition where we used little sis as a shyness shield. 

 

Apparently, "sing with enthusiasm" means "sing as loudly as possible".

 

I wanted "one more take" and at this point, Leighton felt she had already delivered several worthy of a Grammy nomination. I told her that Mairin was happy to oblige and that Lei's services were no longer needed. 

 

After thirty seconds of little sis in the spotlight, Lei was ready to give her finale performance. Poor Dinkie, she was not so eager for Lei's return. I will admit, there is a cookie involved as incentive for Leighton, but she would have given it one last go anyway ... for grandma. (She assured me that she was not doing this for my benefit).

 

I had the opportunity to interview my little starlet after her series of tapings.

DF: What did you do this weekend?

LEI: I was at Grandma's house.

DF: What did you do there?

LEI: I don't know. Played with princesses. Got presents.

DF: What does Grandma say about "I don't know."

LEI: Not to say it.

DF: So what did you do with Grandma?

LEI: I don't ... I did the beads. I wasn't good doing beads so I didn't finish the other beads. I played with princesses and princes. I went outside.

DF: What is your favorite thing to do outside?

LEI: Grandma puts my cozy on the swing and I lay on it!

DF: Is that your favorite thing?

LEI: Uh huh. Yes. It is. I love it.

DF: Did you play in the pool?

LEI: Mmm hmm. Yes. There is a water baby there! And we do walkabout.

DF: Did you watch any movies?

LEI: No. Kit Kitteredge didn't work. I had apple juice.

LEI: I want to go back to Grandmas today.

DF: Why do you want to go back?

LEI: Because I love her.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA!

Happy Birthday Grandma!

 

Love,

The Girls

Polite Conversation

As a mother of a five month-old and a two year-old, I am definitely in a place in my life where many of my daily conversations revolve around boobs and poop.

I'm sure one day, Ryan and I will be sitting on the couch enjoying a glass of wine, and one of us will say, "Wow. We haven't talked about boobs and poop in such a long time. I really miss having little kids."

I'm not saying that I don't enjoy having wee ones. I absolutely do. I'm simply commenting on the frequency with which I say those words - "boobs" and "poop" on a daily basis. It's stunning really.

The whole "boobs" talk has everything to do with breastfeeding. They're either sore or exploding or Leighton just jumped on my lap and kneed me in one of them or they don't fit in my shirt or I need to pump while driving my minivan to the city for a meeting while taking a conference call and putting on my makeup. Kidding, of course.

The "boobs" talk will terminate when Mairin turns one year old. I will cry like a baby on that day and I can't really go there mentally, so right now I refuse to take the "boobs" talk for granted. Mairin eats like a champ and has since the day she was born. Many moms and babies struggle with breastfeeding and we don't. So yay for small victories and yay for boobs.

As for the "poop" talk, Leighton has been completely and totally potty trained for a while now. Still, most of the time, she tells us what she's doing on the potty when she's about to do it, is doing it or has already done it.

Lei has no idea that the running commentary on her business is not polite conversation. It's so normal for her to announce to everyone in the room, "I have to poop" - mostly because we've been making such a big deal out of it for some time now. And, because we have no less than eleven books on the subject. When she first started using the potty, we would cheer and clap and call grandmas and grandpas and tell anyone who would listen "Did you know Leighton poops on the potty?"

So yes, of course she believes that our neighbors and friends want to hear about it. They do, or they should, because the fact that my twenty-seven month-old poops on the potty every day without fail is AMAZING.

I am a proud mama. I celebrate the simplest things and tiniest victories - several of which involve poop and boobs today.

What the Fuss? Kinderwagen

We lived in the city for all of Leighton's first year and the Bugaboo Cameleon got us everywhere we needed to be. We didn't use the car much, but the stroller went out with us every day.

I love the Bug. The bassinet is fantastically roomy and I could just pick up and put down my little babe with ease. It turns on a dime, has decent room in the under seat pouch, and has the perfect handle for hanging a bag.

SIGH.

Once Mairin came, I avoided all stroller discussion that culminated in procuring a dually. The last thing I wanted was a Bob or other dual jogger monstrosity. That's so NOT me. I basically wanted a new Bugaboo with a side by side bassinet and toddler seat. Alas, this does not exist.

Or does it?

We bought the Easywalker Duo (EW Duo) at Zulily a few months ago. And we love it for many of the reasons we love the Bug. We were on the fence between silver and red and ultimately chose red because we clearly like to draw attention to ourselves.

The EW Duo has the side by side toddler seat and bassinet (which converts into another toddler seat, or can be used with two bassinets or carseats).

  

Like the Bugaboo: The EW Duo has a ton of room for stuff, it turns on a dime, and it fits through all standard doorways.

Better than the Bugaboo: The EW Duo has loads of pockets and a cleverly designed shade flap that hangs down, tucks up or covers over the bassinet so nobody gets sun in her eyes. And, unlike the Bug, the bassinet pops off and the whole thing folds down with ease.

  
Pricing starts at $599 for the base. The bassinet and carseat adapter are sold separately. We paid $680 for everything on Zulily in April, but now that I have it, use it and love it, it's worth the full price of admission.

Perfect for the city, suburbs or anywhere in between. The Easywalker Duo is one sweet ride.

 

Whelmed

Sometimes it's all about keeping your head above water.

Such was the last two months of my life. I had a major piece of writing due for an industry publication (for my work job) and it's finally done. Completo-finito.

I had mastitis twice in as many weeks and have been super busy with clients.

Ryan's been traveling for a new role he's taken on at work and so it became a struggle for me to so much as brush my teeth on days I didn't have meetings toward the end of my writing ordeal.

The good news is, I've gone from being entirely overwhelmed to just plain old whelmed. Of course, I know "whelmed" isn't a real word, but, I really think it should be. Mostly because "whelmed" is exactly how I feel.

"Whelmed" s the space I'm in when I feel as though I've just opened my eyes for the first time in weeks and allowed myself to see the disaster my house has become. It's not a huge mess disaster, but a disorganization type of disaster. The kind of mess I didn't know I had until I tried to remember the last time I bathed the girls or the dog ... and I can't come up with anything concrete.

I don't know where anything is. Kids' clothes, shoes, sunblock, sunglasses, barbies, teethers, ponytail holders, diapers, mish mashes, chapsticks, loose change and sand fill every every stroller, bag and pocket we own. The cars are trashed and the minivan has a dent from a recent and tragic parking ramp incident in the city.

And, I'm so exhausted, I barely have a care to speedily square away the wreckage. I guess I'd rather spend my spare moments writing about it than cleaning it up.

 Whelmed. There you have it.

 

Anniversorry Part III: Oh Yeah, We Trashed My Parents House in Less Than 24 Hours

I can't discuss our fourth anniversary without mentioning the fact that my parents' house needed professional cleaning from our stay that lasted roughly one day.

Before we left the girls with my parents, we poured ourselves glasses of wine. Ryan set his on the tea table near the couch where Mairin lay. I took off my jacket to change her, and in pulling off my right sleeve, knocked the glass.

It tipped over and spilled on the carpet. I grabbed paper towel to dab, dab, dab and figured the glass must have been nearly empty, as there was far less damage than I feared.

There was one ugly spot several spatter marks, so I headed to the basement to retrieve the Oxy Clean.

SIDEBAR: You should know that I spill a beverage (usually red wine) EVERY SINGLE TIME I visit my parents. It's ridiculous and I feel awful, but it happens and I have no clue why. I spill quite frequently at home too, but I destroy my parents' house more than any other place. And so, this incident did not alarm me in the least.

I was alarmed when I saw the trail of wine dribbles through the kitchen, leading past the powder room, to and up the stairs. What the Fuss?

I yelled up to my dad, "Dad, is your wine glass cracked?" 

"No. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

There were little red drips everywhere and NO FOOTPRINTS. I cleaned up quickly and surprisingly (probably because it was cloudy at that very moment) no one seemed to notice.

We finished our wine, grabbed our bags and kissed our girls goodbye ... Leighton, Mairin and Luella. I bent down to kiss Lue and my lips met a stiff and matted little dog. What?

Why was my teensy pup trembling and why was she rocking bangs like a Milwaukee-bred seventh-grader circa 1989?

Ryan was laughing and wheezing so hard he could hardly get the words out, and it dawned on me (almost as quickly) that our beloved little four-pound Yorkie was the recipient of the contents of that tumbled wine glass.

She stood behind me (as per usual) like a little shadow, when I spilled. And, on a not-so-humorous note, she tracked no less than a billion droplets of vino all about the house.

My mom was rightfully peeved. Fortunately, she had already consumed her glass of wine, which kept her commentary about how "Lue pees all over the house so what's a little wine added to the mix" to a minimum while we skated out the door.

Once we left, Grandpa entertained Leighton while Grandma spent nine, desperate hours trying to feed Mairin. Toys,  bottles, burp cloths, blankets and spitup clothes were surely strewn about until the morning.

The evidence was all but gone when we arrived in the AM. We sat about, marveling at the previous night's events, enjoying coffee and breakfast. Mairin gorged herself on boobie dish to make up for her hunger strike, and we crafted details surrounding Luella's wine-soaked misfortune.

We giggled and snort-laughed and as I put Marinka Dinka over my shoulder for a burp, she launched the entire meal on and over my shoulder into every nook and cranny of the wingback chair, my top, pants and bra. We all sprung into action - handing off baby, pulling out cushions, scrambling for spitty rags, tearing off clothing. It was horrifically silly.

To top it off, I stepped in a puddle of Lue pee on my way to toss my spitty soaked clothes in the laundry while wearing only my underpants and Ryan's overcoat.

Mayhem is the only way to describe it. Me screaming, Ryan laughing, my mom mad at Ryan for laughing, my dad scolding my mom for being mad at Ryan for laughing because "this is what happens when you have dogs and kids" and Leighton seizing the opportunity to stand in the corner and poop her pants without consequence because "pooping on the potty makes me fer-us-ter-a-terd."

Or should I say fer-us-ter-a-turd?

We will let the dust settle before dropping the girls at my parents' house again for a night out. And, someday we will look back on this and laugh. And, oh yeah, today is that day.

Sorry mom.

Anniversorry Part II: Imposters

Given the anticipation created by planning our anniversary celebration, it should not come as a surprise that the events of the evening did NOT transpire as intended.

We arrived at the hotel at 2pm for an early check in. There is nothing better than a toddler and infant-free nap in a freshly cleaned, fancy hotel room. So we ordered lunch up to our lair, enjoyed a Sprecher Amber and Usingers sausage sticks and snoozed. Hard.

In readying for dinner, Ryan tested the rain shower ... complete with translucent glass. Interesting.

Here is a stock photo from the hotel. This shower leaves little to the imagination. One can only hope there are other accommodations for individuals staying with friends or small children or Amish folk.

 
Honestly, I felt that at this point we were in over our heads - kidding ourselves that we (the proud parents of two teeny tots) could pull off a normal romantic moment or several without laughing at some point, or feeling like a couple of imposters. 

Once we were primped and proper, cousin Pete and his fiancee Leah met us for pre-dinner cocktails. They live in Milwaukee, we haven't seen them for a spell and we fully intended to use this time to formally ask them to be Mairin's Godparents. We enjoyed a bottle of wine in our room, then a beer at the hotel bar. And, once my mom called, we forgot to ask them anything.

"Mairin hasn't eaten since you left. I've tried several different bottles, different nipples, different batches of frozen breastmilk and even formula. No dice."

Not wanting to: a) Appear overly concerned; b) Foreshadow the fact that this may ruin the whole night; or c) Fail our plan, I told her to give Mairin Tylenol and cross her fingers.

Ryan was jumpy and sweaty and seemingly paranoid through cocktails and the call from my mom didn't help. We hopped a cab to dinner and the pavlovian effect usually created by the ride to Bacchus was nearly impossible to attain.

Other than spying John Malan (local meteorologist since childhood) at the bar, the twenty minute wait for our table was spent desperately trying NOT to talk about Mairin's appetite over our own. Ryan's jumpiness overpowered the voice of reason in my head that should have assured me both girls would be just fine for the evening.

"I wonder why she's not eating."

"Maybe she's eating now."

"I'm sure everything is fine. This meal is going to be awesome."

"I can't wait."

"Me either."

"Too bad Mairin's not eating her dinner."

"I know, right? It's so strange. Poor baby."

"I think I want the filet."

"Me too."

Tick. Tick. Tick. Drink. Drink. Drink.

Our collective worry must have accelerated our collective metabolic rate because at this point in the evening we had each had two beers and three glasses of wine.

We were seated at our corner table and ordered another glass of wine, small plates and our entrees. I ordered the lobster and Ryan ordered the filet. Of course, there was much discussion surrounding menu choices and how "I will order last" and "what two items can we split" and Ryan doesn't think lobster is "worth it" and I'm all "you have to be joking" and blah blah blah.

"I wonder if Mairin is eating yet," we mused over another glass of wine.

By the time my mom called again, Ryan was still sweaty, I was drunk and our entrees had yet to arrive. Service on this particularly important Saturday was sssloooow - overbooked like a United flight out of O'Hare.

By the time we paid the bill and talked to my mom AGAIN about how Mairin now hadn't eaten in eight hours, we decided that we would take a cab back to my parents' house, feed stubborn Mairin and come back.

By the time we made it back to the hotel, we packed our bags and called the valet to bring the car around.

I looked ridiculous waiting for the car having already changed into my yoga pants and other such Lulu Lemon/Athleta wear. I felt my fraud exposed as the valet held the minivan door for me and I hopped inside - Patagonia bag on my shoulder, bronze stilletos in hand - while hipsters and aging bikers filed into the hotel in appropriate attire for a night out. I tried to pretend we enjoyed a lovely stay (of more than a few hours) and were excited to be on our way home, but the absurdity of it all was apparent.

We were ten blocks out when my mom called yet again to report that, "Mairin is finally eating. She was stubborn and wants her mom, but I finally won. Please go back to the hotel. My God, you sound trashed."

Ryan and I argued for two minutes about what to do and blamed each other for getting so worked up. He told me he was worried because this normally wouldn't have freaked me out and I blamed my freaking out on his profuse perspiration and irritability. It's at this point that he admitted to taking TWO 24-hour Claritin because he didn't want his allergies to "ruin our evening".

Ah well, his intentions were pure.

We went back to the hotel at 11pm, gave our keys to the same valet who helped me out of the car moments earlier, took the gorgeous elevator straight up and went to bed ... defeated.

Dinner at a fabulously slow restaurant - $250. Unsullied hotel room - $400. White gold and diamond locket given by husband as a wedding gift left on the nightstand and "not recovered" by housekeeping - $3150.

Jen and Ryan's fourth anniversary memories - PRICELESS.

Anniversorry Part I: The Game Plan

We were married only four years ago, yet we managed to pack quite a bit of drama into the last fourteen hundred and sixty days.

The blessed nuptials occurred on May 12, 2007.  Shortly thereafter, we closed on the condo, had a miscarriage, renovated the condo, had a baby, bought a house, renovated the house, and had another baby.

No wonder we feel like, "Hey we had Mairin three months ago and have done NOTHING since." Unless you count the scramble to prepare for Leighton's birthday party, the recent slacking is out of character.

Every anniversary, we pull out our wedding photos and discuss the fact that we had the GREATEST WEDDING EVER with nauseating detail. Then we relive our honeymoon in Hawaii and make the same wild claims that it kicked so much ass and we'll NEVER EVER dare take such an extravagant vacation again. By the second glass of wine, it's as if we're arguing with another imaginary couple about who's event was better.

I love anniversaries. SIGH.

This year, we thought it would be brilliant to commemorate another year of wedded bliss by leaving the girls with my parents to spend a romantic evening in downtown Milwaukee. It's a simple plan and, given the fact that Leighton loves her grandparents and Mairin is as pleasant as a baby could be, it should go off without a hitch.

We made a reservation at Bacchus, the restaurant where (after a meal that could only be described as gastronomical perfection) we decided that our rehearsal dinner meal must concocted by their James Beard award-winning executive chef. We have been there since - the food just as amazing and the service still impeccable. Why not play it again?

Ryan booked a room for us at the Iron Horse hotel. It's newish, niche and amazing. The smell of leather and aftershave meets you at the door of this boutique beauty. Deliberately exposed steel, brick and timber are glamorously paired with animal hide, Edison bulbs and Harley paraphenalia.

Here are a smattering of shots. We stayed in a corner suite with the layout in the last picture, which really doesn't do the room justice. I give it two Fussworthy thumbs up.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

We were both so looking forward to our weekend. Work has been stressful, kids add their own brand of busy to the mix, and we needed a night to hang out and reconnect. This was a fancy little plan we could hatch - staying close enough to our babies, but far enough away to focus on each other AND get an uninterrupted night's sleep.

I can't frame up this game plan without mentioning the expectation surrounding the evening in question. Once I had kids, I started to see myself a certain way and I'm not exactly talking about a sexy, independent type-way. I grew accustomed to being covered in spitup, pulling foreign objects from the toilet and uttering the words "poop" or "boobs" several times each day. 

That said, it can be fun to don the hot, bronze, metallic, textured-silk skirt and ruched black fine-wool top that finally fits post-baby and hit the town as my alter ego with my wonderful, handsome husband ... otherwise known as "Daddy".

Mary Poppins Folds My Underpants

Our new nanny started last week. Let's call her "Mary" as her references describe her as no less brilliant than the original umbrella-toting phenomenon, Mary Poppins.

So far, I do not disagree.

Let's also frame up this discussion with a few truisms.

First, I almost completely lack the ability to rely on others for assistance. In fact, I suck at asking for help or even admitting that I need it in the first place.

I also work. I am an attorney. I have a real job that requires my undivided attention from nine to five and beyond. I travel occasionally for this job. I pay the bills, manage our finances, clean our home, employ requisite help, procure necessities for the homestead and do my best not to starve or misplace Luella, our beloved (if not neglected these days) Yorkie. Don't feel too sorry for her. She still gets her dinner at the foot of our bed and sleeps snugly in my right armpit. Every night.

I rarely cook anymore. I leave that to my wonderful husband, without whom I would be much thinner. God bless him.

Still, let it be known that I would do everything if I could. Farm and prepare our food. Develop family photos in a dark room. Fabricate paper from pulp. Build our furniture. Make our soap. I'd consume and morph into Martha Stewart, were it possible. And, for the rest of it ... if it isn't my idea, I probably won't like it or listen to it - not at first anyway.

I'm getting better.

Having Leighton was a serious game-changer – a real kick in the ass, if you will. It took me the better part of two years to learn how to fit work and hobbies back into the rotation, right behind caring for my girl and maintaining a relationship with my husband. All of this just in time to give birth to Mairin – a curveball in her own right.

Mairin threw me a bit. She eats, sleeps, smiles and grows, as a smart and healthy baby should. And then she sleeps and eats and grows some more. She's a perfect little chub-budda, pulling off "ah-goos" and grasping her toys at a mere seven, eight, nine weeks.

Sure Leighton is a wee bit jealous, but she loves her sister. She loves her so much, we can't leave the two alone – even to pee – for fear that we will return to find Mairin on the floor, flailing and being dragged by a teeny limb or two. All in good fun, of course.

My maternity leave ended April 12^th when Mairin was only nine weeks old. I work from home and value the precious moments I can spend throughout the day with my girls. Not to mention the fact that breastfeeding is considerably easier when every meal isn't handled by a pump because I have access to my little diner throughout the day.

Still, I find myself to be incredibly disciplined and able to handle working from the house. I believe my company gets more for their money with me at home … no commute on an office day and happy to be getting down to business. It's quite perfect.

This is where Mary, Ms. Poppins, comes in. I am learning that Mary is an extension of me. She carries out my tasks and cares for my babies with love and respect – all the while considering my needs in the process. She has mentioned that she's there to make my life easier so that Ryan and I can enjoy our girls at the end of the day, instead of tripping over toys, groceries and doggie poo.

She will come to know where the messy cabinets and junk drawers are. She will learn that I toss tinkle diapers off the bed throughout the night because the girls sleep in our family bed. She will judge me a little when I don't scold enough and raise an eyebrow when we have cake for breakfast. She will fold my underpants.

This intimate knowledge of us is imperative. Raising kids is tough stuff and despite the number of procreators on the planet, the system is neither designed for nor is it kind to working parents.

Why must school end at three-ish? Who picks up the kids? Who takes them to practice when they're older? Who makes sure some creep doesn't scoop them into their windowless van? Who helps them with their absurdio amount of homework? And who the hell does the shopping and the laundry?

I need to utilize Mary in every way possible - from entertaining and teaching my girls to handling laundry and running errands for me. I will get there. I swear.

With all of the bitching I'm doing at the moment, I have to wonder: What do the single parents do? I seriously contemplate that several times each day. I observe a moment of silence for those parents – mostly single moms – because this parenting thing is a real mother effer.

I get it. I feel the full weight of that which I carry – the yoke of parenting – the awesome responsibility that comes with preparing little humans to be intelligent, compassionate citizens. And, I know that I need some help throughout the day or we can't raise our girls in the way that suits us best.

So I take deep breath and pledge myself to letting go: I will ask for help when I need it. I will accept help where it is offered. I will remain calm and loving in the face of meltdowns, tantrums, spilled milk and other forms of adversity. And, for the love of all that is good and holy, I will let Mary Poppins fold my underpants.