One shitty moment in an otherwise lovely day

Today was practically perfect in every way. My kids benefited from some very awesome yard sales (A got a mini Radio Flyer trike, Z got a Disney Princess tee, and they both got new books). They got to listen to stories and dance with Miss Lori's Campus (minus Miss Lori!) at a WTTW Kids event in the Whole Foods parking lot. We hit the library for a restock of books and A took a 2 hour nap while I whipped up and delivered a mac and cheese casserole for a family that just had a new baby.

We hit the pool around 2:30 and scored a lounge chair (that never happens) right next to three of our neighbors (none of whom we'd even planned on meeting). Z had tons of friends to play with, but A didn't seem like her usual water baby self. She kept climbing out of the pool and asking for snacks, and after about an hour or so, she climbed into her stroller, asked me to set it recline, and covered herself up with a towel. Each time I went to check on her, she told me to "Go!" and she'd lay down with her paci, closing her eyes a bit.

I thought maybe all the sun and activity had worn her out, but she was hatching something much more sinister than a nap in her cozy, damp little stroller cave.

Something I discovered when she asked to go back into the pool, 10 minutes before closing. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I came face to face with my first ever poopy swim diaper. A blowout, I might add, that I first smelled and then saw, smeared across the right side of my waist.

Thank G-d I had so many friends nearby. I shouted for them to keep an eye on Z and I raced with A and the diaper bag into the locker room, where, in one fell swoop, I stripped off her swimsuit (thank goodness I'd just bought her a two-piece), removed her diaper and showered us both off. What I'd forgotten in my race to grab the diaper bag was a towel, and I couldn't very well put a diaper on a dripping wet baby, so I walked back out to the pool in my dripping (de-pooped, but not yet sterilized) swimsuit with a slick naked baby on my hip and a backpack slung over my shoulder. I had 3 minutes to get A dressed and Z out of the pool before it closed. Good times.

Things did improve after the shitty ending to outing. We had our friends from across the fence over for BBQ takeout and by dessert time we'd all joined our next-door neighbors in the backyard. The kids (and us grown-ups, for that matter) were having so much fun that I let both of the girls stay up an hour past their bedtimes.

Z sporting her new Belle tee, a jean skirt, rain boots and multiple weapons.

Have a baby, take the summer off

WSJ's The Juggle blog asks if parents planned their pregnancies so they could have a spring or summer baby and take their maternity leave when it's nice outside.

In a word, yes. I didn't plan ahead with baby #1. She was a planned pregnancy, but it was more like yes, we're ready to get pregnant. We didn't think about when that baby might be born. So Z was born in November, which I learned from the folks at Prentice Women's Hospital (aka Chicagoland's Baby Factory) is their slowest month for deliveries. I guess couples aren't all that swept away by the romance of Valentine's Day.

My first maternity leave took place during Chicago's coldest months, so save for a trip to Hawaii, we spent it largely indoors, cuddling on the couch and watching DVD marathons of The OC and the Gilmore Girls.

Knowing that I'd have a toddler to entertain while I cared for a newborn, I decided maternity leave #2 would need to take place in the playground months. We aimed for May and scored a July baby.

And it turned out even better than I hoped. We've put lots of miles on our double stroller, we're regulars at our favorite parks, and I got to be around for Z's transition to preschool. We never felt cooped up at home and I didn't have to resort to videos to keep Z out of trouble as I nursed, burped and wiped my way through the last three months.

I return to work in a week!

Who doesn't love a parade?

Imagine the ultimate home town parade. Now imagine that home town is an upscale suburb full of multi-million dollar homes. And there you have the River Forest Memorial Day Parade, an hour's worth of floats sponsored by local businesses, high school marching bands, community groups in matching t-shirts and youths representing their tumbling classes, Little League baseball teams and scouting troops.

There were vintage and current fire engines, ladder trucks and ambulances (with sirens blaring), antique cars, motorcycles, custom bicycles and a unicycle. There were stilt-walkers, jugglers, dogs and horses. Oh, and because apparently money is no object, there were planes flying in formation overheard! Z was utterly, completely enraptured, particularly with the drill team/cheerleaders ("Look Mommy, ballerinas!") and men on horseback ("Can I pet one?").

And the cherry on the sundae? A local homeowner is a train enthusiast who built his very own miniature railroad around his yard. And he was offering all the kids free rides.


Click here to see even more parade pictures.

Death by Popsicle

Is there anything more torturous than watching a toddler eat a Popsicle? The mercury hit 90 degrees in Oak Park this afternoon, so I gave Z a Popsicle Scribbler (basically a smallish Popsicle "made with fruit juice") for dessert for dinner. We headed out to the back steps to enjoy our frozen novelties in the fresh air, but the torture of watching Z slooowly take a little lick of the top of her pop, scoot down all 10 of our steps, scoot back up, and take another tiny lick sapped all of the fun out of it for me.

How old does a kid need to be to understand that enjoying ice cream on a stick means battling against the forces of time and temperature? The Popsicle was glistening in the heat, and Z would grab it by the frozen center to get a better hold on the stick. Did I mention she was wearing a really cute skirt? Well, I pulled it off after the first drip landed.

I was cajoling her to take a little bite...lick the sides...anything to get the show on the road, but she blithely ignored me, happy instead to spy on the neighbors as Popsicle juice ran down her chin and cascaded over her fingers. Her remedy? Once again, she grasped the Popsicle around the middle so she could lick the sticky runoff from her fingers and inner arm. Kind of defeats the point, doesn't it?

Finally, after 10 minutes of this torture, she handed me the remainder of her Popsicle with an "I'm done." I tried to figure out what was more urgent: throwing away the melting mess or getting my messy kid under some running water.