Last night. 11:56pm. I hear my daughter call out from across the hall, "I need to throw up." I'm out of bed in flash. She seems cool and comfortable as I pick her up for a hug.
"Do you want to rock on the chair or go throw up in the toilet, Z?"
"Throw up in the toilet."
She leads over the can, dipping her head in so far I can hear her bangs swish in the water. I pull her up to wipe off her face and... she vomits all over herself, me and the bathroom floor. Bright red pomegranate juice and pizza puke. I strip off her pajamas and we sit on the side of the tub. She's got her head resting on my shoulder when the second wave hits. I catch some of it in the bowl we use for rinsing off shampoo.
A cool sponge bath and fresh pajamas and she's back in bed.
12:36. "Throw up. Throw up, Mommy." This time Josh races to her room. Only she's already soaked her pillow. As Josh wraps up the sheets with the clothes soiled earlier and heads downstairs to start a load of laundry, I encourage Z to drink a few sips of water. We cuddle, clean off her face and read a story. She willingly lies down in bed.
This time Z sleeps peacefully through the night, but we don't. We're too tense, listening for the next summons.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Come on baby, let's do the flip
In the past week and a half, I've held frozen peas to my belly, shined a flashlight on my pelvis, laid on the bed with three pillows under my butt and watched TV perched on a stability ball. I visited a chiropractor. I closed my eyes and visualized a tiny backflipping baby diving down toward my pelvis. I've drunk glass after glass after glass of water.
And every few hours I touch my belly, hoping not to feel the telltale bump that is baby's head. It moves from the left side to the right side, and sometimes it's just over my belly button. But it's never where I want it: head down. It sounds crazy, but I just want a kick in the ribs... instead of a push to the bladder.
Yup, my baby's breech. At 31 weeks. Intellectually, I know I still have time. But because my first kid never turned vertex, I'm freaking out a little bit. With Z, I tried everything to get her to turn. Handstands in warm water. Hypnosis. A touch of moxibustion (which we quit doing because it made the house reek of pot). I even signed up for an external version at 37 weeks, and trust me when I tell you that was no picnic!
Because she was breech, Z was delivered via a scheduled c-section at 39 weeks. I never experienced labor. I was rolled into an overly bright, freezing OR at Northwestern Memorial Hospital at 3:20pm and I heard my daughter cry out at 3:44. I didn't have the natural birth I'd hoped for, but I got a healthy, beautiful baby who's been the light of my life. My recovery was quicker than expected, and aside from some side effects form the anesthesia, it wasn't a bad experience altogether.
But I figured I'd paid my dues. I did the ultimate-intervention birth and now it was my turn to have a minimal-intervention birth. For a variety of reasons, location being a big one, I switched to West Suburban Midwives in Oak Park and planned a delivery at West Suburban Medical Center's Alternative Birthing Center (aka the ABC). I found a doula-in-training to give me confidence. I've been taking a prenatal yoga class and I even remember to do kegels once in a while.
I want a VBAC so badly, but I feel selfish and whiny for caring so much about how my second daughter enters the world. My sister just gave birth on Mother's Day, making her the first woman in two generations to deliver the old-fashioned way. I want what she had, and what so many of my friends have experienced. I want to nod along knowingly when women talk about labor and pain and childbirth.
Hell, I want this baby to flip over before I flip out. Because obsessing is not productive. And frankly, it's not my style.
-----------------
Cross-posted at Chicago Moms Blog, where you can read the rants of raves of plenty of other mothers.
And every few hours I touch my belly, hoping not to feel the telltale bump that is baby's head. It moves from the left side to the right side, and sometimes it's just over my belly button. But it's never where I want it: head down. It sounds crazy, but I just want a kick in the ribs... instead of a push to the bladder.
Yup, my baby's breech. At 31 weeks. Intellectually, I know I still have time. But because my first kid never turned vertex, I'm freaking out a little bit. With Z, I tried everything to get her to turn. Handstands in warm water. Hypnosis. A touch of moxibustion (which we quit doing because it made the house reek of pot). I even signed up for an external version at 37 weeks, and trust me when I tell you that was no picnic!
Because she was breech, Z was delivered via a scheduled c-section at 39 weeks. I never experienced labor. I was rolled into an overly bright, freezing OR at Northwestern Memorial Hospital at 3:20pm and I heard my daughter cry out at 3:44. I didn't have the natural birth I'd hoped for, but I got a healthy, beautiful baby who's been the light of my life. My recovery was quicker than expected, and aside from some side effects form the anesthesia, it wasn't a bad experience altogether.
But I figured I'd paid my dues. I did the ultimate-intervention birth and now it was my turn to have a minimal-intervention birth. For a variety of reasons, location being a big one, I switched to West Suburban Midwives in Oak Park and planned a delivery at West Suburban Medical Center's Alternative Birthing Center (aka the ABC). I found a doula-in-training to give me confidence. I've been taking a prenatal yoga class and I even remember to do kegels once in a while.
I want a VBAC so badly, but I feel selfish and whiny for caring so much about how my second daughter enters the world. My sister just gave birth on Mother's Day, making her the first woman in two generations to deliver the old-fashioned way. I want what she had, and what so many of my friends have experienced. I want to nod along knowingly when women talk about labor and pain and childbirth.
Hell, I want this baby to flip over before I flip out. Because obsessing is not productive. And frankly, it's not my style.
-----------------
Cross-posted at Chicago Moms Blog, where you can read the rants of raves of plenty of other mothers.
The break up
This great video for Microsoft Digital Advertising Solutions showcases how little advertisers are listening to their consumers. I'd like to think the below-the-line work my agency does is less about shouting at consumers and more about fostering a meaningful dialogue, but we've done our share of couponing too.
Awwwww....huh?
Last night, as I gave Z her bedtime snuggles in the rocking chair, she gave my belly a hug and a kiss and asked, "When the baby comes out, can we all cuddle together?"
"Yes," I said.
"And is she gonna come out your belly button, Mama?"
"Yes," I said.
"And is she gonna come out your belly button, Mama?"
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Fickle, fickle Z
This weekend we'd purchased an adorable tent-like canopy for Z's toddler bed. Josh hung it up today while I was at work and Z at daycare, and it looked absolutely lovely. The white mesh matched her bed and the sage green leaves coordinated with her walls.
Z was over the moon with excitement over her little "fairy princess house where no one can come in!" That is, until lights-out time. Then she decided she was "too scared" and asked me to take it down.
C'est la vie. We should have known better than to try to change anything.
Speaking of fairy princesses, we watched the first half of Pan's Labyrinth tonight. Dividing movies in two drives my film buff of a husband nuts, but since I'm only able to keep my eyes open until 10pm, it's the only way we're going to see anything. The last two nights were dedicated to Little Children, which was very faithful to the book.
Z was over the moon with excitement over her little "fairy princess house where no one can come in!" That is, until lights-out time. Then she decided she was "too scared" and asked me to take it down.
C'est la vie. We should have known better than to try to change anything.
Speaking of fairy princesses, we watched the first half of Pan's Labyrinth tonight. Dividing movies in two drives my film buff of a husband nuts, but since I'm only able to keep my eyes open until 10pm, it's the only way we're going to see anything. The last two nights were dedicated to Little Children, which was very faithful to the book.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
A second moms blog
The Second City is now home to the Chicago Moms Blog, the Silicon Valley Moms Blog's very first sister site. Beating NYC to the punch? That's good news for Chicago. Getting invited to contribute my own thoughts on raising a kid in my favorite city? That's good news for me!I'm proud to be sharing space with a talented pool of mommy bloggers, a diverse group of working, work-at-home and stay-at-home moms. Moms who wear fabulous shoes and moms who wear their babies. Moms who write for a living. And moms who live to write.
Monday, May 14, 2007
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.
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.
Weekend highlights
On Friday, five mothers, three of us in our third trimester, hit Emilio's Tapas in Hillside for plate after small plate of delicious Spanish cuisine. The other two got to wash their bacon-wrapped dates, grilled calamari and garlic potato salad down with a pitcher of sangria.
Saturday morning was kind of a bust (all of us were in bad moods and feeding off each other's negative energy), but the evening was spent with our Chavurah. Nothing like a bunch of Jewish families cooking up an Asian-themed potluck!
That night I curled up with National Geographic's In the Womb, only to be surprised three-quarters of the way through the movie with the news that my sister had just given birth (it was already Mother's Day Sunday in Australia).
I had modest hopes for Mother's Day, having only requested breakfast out. We eschewed the brunch crowds and returned to The Depot American Diner, where we dug into fresh, made-to-order doughnut holes with chocolate dipping sauce as well as more traditional fare (pancakes, apple pancakes and an eggs-potatoes-bacon platter). Josh and Z surprised me with not one but two generous Mother's Day presents: a lime green TOKYObay watch and a gift certificate for a prenatal massage at Urban Oasis! And the day got better yet. We headed to out to IKEA, where I scored a summer-weight duvet and wooden folding chairs for our backyard for $14.99 a piece, and Z was so well behaved we rewarded her with a 50¢ hot dog. She ate the whole thing, bun and all, "like a big girl."
After naptime, Z and I headed over to my friend Stacie's house, where our girls gave us a break, entertaining each other for almost two hours. I can barely believe our 2 1/2-year-olds are big enough to play pretend and (a very primitive version) of hide-and-seek.
Saturday morning was kind of a bust (all of us were in bad moods and feeding off each other's negative energy), but the evening was spent with our Chavurah. Nothing like a bunch of Jewish families cooking up an Asian-themed potluck!
That night I curled up with National Geographic's In the Womb, only to be surprised three-quarters of the way through the movie with the news that my sister had just given birth (it was already Mother's Day Sunday in Australia).
I had modest hopes for Mother's Day, having only requested breakfast out. We eschewed the brunch crowds and returned to The Depot American Diner, where we dug into fresh, made-to-order doughnut holes with chocolate dipping sauce as well as more traditional fare (pancakes, apple pancakes and an eggs-potatoes-bacon platter). Josh and Z surprised me with not one but two generous Mother's Day presents: a lime green TOKYObay watch and a gift certificate for a prenatal massage at Urban Oasis! And the day got better yet. We headed to out to IKEA, where I scored a summer-weight duvet and wooden folding chairs for our backyard for $14.99 a piece, and Z was so well behaved we rewarded her with a 50¢ hot dog. She ate the whole thing, bun and all, "like a big girl."
After naptime, Z and I headed over to my friend Stacie's house, where our girls gave us a break, entertaining each other for almost two hours. I can barely believe our 2 1/2-year-olds are big enough to play pretend and (a very primitive version) of hide-and-seek.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Happy Mother's Day
To all the moms in my life, but particularly to my little sister Eleanor, who became a mother to a little girl for the first time today.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Book review: Even June Cleaver Would Forget the Juice Box
If you've ever grumbled that you wish your kid came with an instruction manual, mosey over to the Parenting & Family shelf in any bookstore. There, you'll find a six foot tall shelf of pastel paperbacks promising to show you the way. Advice from parenting book authors is a lot like advice from family members, friends and neighbors. It can be colored by an combination of religion, science, personal experience and wishful thinking. And whether you've picked up a general parenting guide or a sleep/toilet training/sibling-rivalry bible, what you won't hear much of is reassurance that you're probably doing just fine already. Heck, you're probably worrying, obsessing and simpling doing way too much. And your kids aren't likely to benefit.Enter Even June Cleaver Would Forget the Juice Box. At 300 pages, it's a bit padded with the kind of self-help quizzes and summary pages I hate (I'm so not the self-help type), but the premise is sound: be a good-enough mom. Don't overschedule your children and overextend yourself. Don't make your life so child-centric and self-sacrificing that you end up running on empty. There are no gold medals in the Mommy Olympics, so you might as well walk the marathon and enjoy the scenery. Remember that if mama is happy, everybody is happy. And that means you need to take care of your needs too.
It's a message I already believed in, so perhaps this books wasn't written for me. I worry a little about the big issues (instilling values like respect and manners and, I'll admit it, potty training), but I'm too cheap to buy fancy baby shoes and too lazy to prepare and freeze my own organic baby food cubes. With work, friends and everything else on my plate, I don't have the time and energy to "do it all," and it's never occurred to me to engage in the kind of playground oneupmanship that author Ann Dunnewold says pushes mothers into the Extreme Parenting trap.
Dunnewold suggests cultivating a circle of like-minded parents as an antidote to the mommy madness, and once again I'm a step ahead of her. I've got a wonderful group of mom friends, and they've never judged me or made me feel inadequate when I ask for advice or blow off a little steam. With my girlfriends, I can safely confess my sins of motherhood, be it skipping a bath, using a video to grab a moment of peace or serving cold cereal for dinner.
If Dunnewold's to be believed, I'm one of the lucky ones. Apparently this Extreme Parenting thing--whether an invasion of the Baby Genius Edutainment Complex, the uber-boobers or the sanctimommies--is reaching crisis levels in some communities.
No wonder some folks are flocking to the cocktail playdate.
Blog Blast: What Makes a Mother
In honor of Mother's Day, Parent Bloggers Network and Light Iris are sponsoring a blog blast, an invitation to moms across the blogosphere to answer the question, "What Makes You a Mother?"
What makes me a mother? Not pregnancy, birth or breastfeeding, although all of those things made me feel motherly. Not sacrifice, sleeplessness or worry, hardships common to moms but not our exclusive domain.
What truly makes me a mother is my daughter. My name is the first thing she says in the morning, and it is me she wants for goodnight stories. At least for now, Mommy is best at just about everything: making snacks, pouring drinks, pushing the stroller and driving the car. Her face lights up when she sees me, and I am comforted knowing my embrace can soothe away boo-boos, worries and tears.
The day she was born, my identity changed forever. I was no longer just Alma; I was Z's mommy. I was no longer a wage-earner; I was a provider. I was no longer my parents' child. I was my child's parent.
Z has deepened my commitment to leading a certain kind of life. My neighborhood, my friends, even my religion are elevated in importance because I want the best for her. Being her mother makes me want to be a better person because I want to set a good example for her. As her mother, I have a vested interest in the environment and politics. I vote because I want a just world for her. I make green choices because I want a livable world for her. I nurture friendships with other families because I want her to grow up with life-long friends.
My daughter, only 2 1/2 years old, has made me a mother. And I couldn't be more proud.
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What makes you a mother? Join the blog blast before the end of the day Friday, and you could win a SpaFinder gift certificate.
--------------
Cross posted to Silicon Valley Moms Blog
What makes me a mother? Not pregnancy, birth or breastfeeding, although all of those things made me feel motherly. Not sacrifice, sleeplessness or worry, hardships common to moms but not our exclusive domain.
What truly makes me a mother is my daughter. My name is the first thing she says in the morning, and it is me she wants for goodnight stories. At least for now, Mommy is best at just about everything: making snacks, pouring drinks, pushing the stroller and driving the car. Her face lights up when she sees me, and I am comforted knowing my embrace can soothe away boo-boos, worries and tears.
The day she was born, my identity changed forever. I was no longer just Alma; I was Z's mommy. I was no longer a wage-earner; I was a provider. I was no longer my parents' child. I was my child's parent.
Z has deepened my commitment to leading a certain kind of life. My neighborhood, my friends, even my religion are elevated in importance because I want the best for her. Being her mother makes me want to be a better person because I want to set a good example for her. As her mother, I have a vested interest in the environment and politics. I vote because I want a just world for her. I make green choices because I want a livable world for her. I nurture friendships with other families because I want her to grow up with life-long friends.
My daughter, only 2 1/2 years old, has made me a mother. And I couldn't be more proud.
--------------
What makes you a mother? Join the blog blast before the end of the day Friday, and you could win a SpaFinder gift certificate.
--------------
Cross posted to Silicon Valley Moms Blog
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Restaurant review: Kitsch'n
It is absolutely gorgeous today in Chicago. The sun is shining, the air is clear and the temperature is about 72 degrees. The perfect day for lunch alfresco with Josh. We picked Kitsch'n for the outdoor seating and cheap validated parking.
The service was friendly, if a little absent-minded, but the food...not so great. My macaroni and cheese was a Velveeta-eque gloppy orange goo with cold cheddar shredded on top. A little too retro, if you ask me. Josh was unimpressed with his hamburger, but he did clean his plate.
But one thing blew me away (literally). The hand dryers in the bathrooms are too cool. They are Dyson Airblades, and look like this.
Dried my hands in seconds without hot air and with no shake-shake-wipe-on-pants finale.
The service was friendly, if a little absent-minded, but the food...not so great. My macaroni and cheese was a Velveeta-eque gloppy orange goo with cold cheddar shredded on top. A little too retro, if you ask me. Josh was unimpressed with his hamburger, but he did clean his plate.
But one thing blew me away (literally). The hand dryers in the bathrooms are too cool. They are Dyson Airblades, and look like this.
Dried my hands in seconds without hot air and with no shake-shake-wipe-on-pants finale.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Little night owls
I just returned from a late evening run to Target, and I was surprised how many toddlers I saw up and about, running errands with their parents at 9pm. I would understand if the kids were with a single parent since it probably doesn't seem worth the money or hassle to pay a babysitter for chance to buy laundry detergent in peace, but all of the kids were with both of their parents.
Do these children sleep in? Do their parents have jobs that make sleeping in late a possibility? Do they make up for their late nights with long afternoon naps? I know that children's bedtimes are dictated by culture, and many folks have told me that in Italy and Spain, kids are out at restaurants with their parents at 10pm. But given how many jobs, preschools and daycare centers open for business between 8 and 9am in this country, I wonder if burning the midnight oil is such a smart move for such small children.
Do these children sleep in? Do their parents have jobs that make sleeping in late a possibility? Do they make up for their late nights with long afternoon naps? I know that children's bedtimes are dictated by culture, and many folks have told me that in Italy and Spain, kids are out at restaurants with their parents at 10pm. But given how many jobs, preschools and daycare centers open for business between 8 and 9am in this country, I wonder if burning the midnight oil is such a smart move for such small children.
I can see clearly now
We had our windows professionally cleaned yesterday and I am kicking myself for not doing it earlier. We've owned the place for almost four years and it only occurred to me last month that I could pay people to climb ladders, pull apart our vintage storm windows and squeegee everything to a sparkling shine. Our glassed-in front porch is completely transformed, and I feel like I could put my hand through the handful of windows that don't have screens.
My next Angie's List project: find a carpet cleaner to restore my stairs, which are still bearing witness to the great mother-in-law candle wax incident of 2006.
My next Angie's List project: find a carpet cleaner to restore my stairs, which are still bearing witness to the great mother-in-law candle wax incident of 2006.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Judd Apatow's knocked up
I liked The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Undeclared
and I loved Freaks and Geeks, so I'm more than a little excited to see director Judd Apatow and so many familiar faces in a new summer movie, Knocked Up, about a couple who conceive a baby during a one-night stand. Click here to see the preview.
One more reason not to diet
The NY Times has a fascinating article about weight-loss research that is sure to surprise a lot of folks and piss off those companies who make money pushing diets and diet foods.
Researcher Dr. Jules Hirsch has devoted his life's work to studying the differences between obese and normal-sized individuals, and what he had discovered is that all of us have a natural normal weight range of about 10-20 pounds. It can be heavy or light, depending on our genetics, but it can't be permanently altered. Which means that the rare obese person who is able to keep the weight off is in a constant state of semi-starvation, a state that takes iron will to maintain.
The researcher came to his conclusions by forcing fat people to diet and normal-sized prisoners to become obese. As soon as his subjects were released from his studies, their body mass reverted to its previous state. He also compared the body mass indexes of adoptees and twins to determine that nature, not nurture is responsible for our size.
My personal experience supports Dr. Hirsch's conclusions. Both of my parents maintained normal weights without much trouble and--pregnancy excepted--I've never strayed far from 134-140 pounds, no matter how much or little I'm exercising.
But we don't get to pick out parents, and some people won't win the genetic lottery. For that reason, Dr. Hirsch suggests that our anti-obesity efforts might best be directed at those whose overweight parents put them at an elevated risk of obesity.
I say bring back recess and daily P.E. and use taxation and incentives to decrease our reliance of cars and encourage walking, biking and mass transit. No matter what our size, we'll be in better health. And so will our planet.
Researcher Dr. Jules Hirsch has devoted his life's work to studying the differences between obese and normal-sized individuals, and what he had discovered is that all of us have a natural normal weight range of about 10-20 pounds. It can be heavy or light, depending on our genetics, but it can't be permanently altered. Which means that the rare obese person who is able to keep the weight off is in a constant state of semi-starvation, a state that takes iron will to maintain.
The researcher came to his conclusions by forcing fat people to diet and normal-sized prisoners to become obese. As soon as his subjects were released from his studies, their body mass reverted to its previous state. He also compared the body mass indexes of adoptees and twins to determine that nature, not nurture is responsible for our size.
My personal experience supports Dr. Hirsch's conclusions. Both of my parents maintained normal weights without much trouble and--pregnancy excepted--I've never strayed far from 134-140 pounds, no matter how much or little I'm exercising.
But we don't get to pick out parents, and some people won't win the genetic lottery. For that reason, Dr. Hirsch suggests that our anti-obesity efforts might best be directed at those whose overweight parents put them at an elevated risk of obesity.
I say bring back recess and daily P.E. and use taxation and incentives to decrease our reliance of cars and encourage walking, biking and mass transit. No matter what our size, we'll be in better health. And so will our planet.
Monday, May 07, 2007
DVD review: Go Potty Go!
If you've got small children, I know what you're thinking. You want to skip to the bottom of this review and find out if the video really worked--if my just-barely 2 1/2-year-old daughter has magically been transformed into a potty champ. Well, I'll save you the agony. She's not.
Yes, she talks the potty talk like nobody's business, but she's all talk, no plop (IYKWIM). So, following my midwife's sage advice, we've put all potty paraphernalia away for the time being. And that includes potty movies.
Fortunately for you, I endured a full month of Go Potty Go! before we decided to take our little bathroom break. Okay, endure might sound a little harsh; I put up with four weeks of insidiously catchy songs about going to the potty and marching in the "big big kids parade!" I suffered the embarrassment of humming these ditties to myself as I hauled my pregnant butt across the office and down the hall to the ladies' room, oh, six to eight times a day.
But my toddler loved watching and re-watching Paige and Parker Panda put on their "big kid underwear" and "go potty, go potty, go potty go!" She learned all the words to the songs and narration, mouthing along through the whole 20 minute DVD. She even brought the movie to daycare, where all the other two and three year olds gave it their own tiny thumbs-up. But best of all, Go Potty Go! is motivational: nearly every time it ended, Z would pull her pants down, unfasten her diaper, and bolt upstairs to get a pair of underpants.
What's most interesting about Go Potty Go!, is that unlike the toilet training classic Once Upon a Potty,
it doesn't really delve into the physical mechanics of toileting. There are no money shots of pee and poop, like we get to see both inside and outside (oops!) of Prudence's potty. The focus isn't on recognizing that "feeling in your tummy...like poo-poo is ready to come out" -- rather, Go Potty Go! is chock-full of Up with People-positive peer pressure, musical numbers that reinforce how wonderful it is to be a big kid and "say good-bye to diapers."
At least for now, Z isn't buying it; she'll sleep in a big girl bed and drink out of a big girl glass, but she'll take diapers over big kid underwear, thank you very much. It's one part of babyhood she wants to hold onto a little bit longer. Might have something to do with the upcoming arrival of her baby sister.
See what other parents are saying and enter to win a copy of the DVD at Parent Bloggers Network.
Yes, she talks the potty talk like nobody's business, but she's all talk, no plop (IYKWIM). So, following my midwife's sage advice, we've put all potty paraphernalia away for the time being. And that includes potty movies.
Fortunately for you, I endured a full month of Go Potty Go! before we decided to take our little bathroom break. Okay, endure might sound a little harsh; I put up with four weeks of insidiously catchy songs about going to the potty and marching in the "big big kids parade!" I suffered the embarrassment of humming these ditties to myself as I hauled my pregnant butt across the office and down the hall to the ladies' room, oh, six to eight times a day.
But my toddler loved watching and re-watching Paige and Parker Panda put on their "big kid underwear" and "go potty, go potty, go potty go!" She learned all the words to the songs and narration, mouthing along through the whole 20 minute DVD. She even brought the movie to daycare, where all the other two and three year olds gave it their own tiny thumbs-up. But best of all, Go Potty Go! is motivational: nearly every time it ended, Z would pull her pants down, unfasten her diaper, and bolt upstairs to get a pair of underpants.
What's most interesting about Go Potty Go!, is that unlike the toilet training classic Once Upon a Potty,
it doesn't really delve into the physical mechanics of toileting. There are no money shots of pee and poop, like we get to see both inside and outside (oops!) of Prudence's potty. The focus isn't on recognizing that "feeling in your tummy...like poo-poo is ready to come out" -- rather, Go Potty Go! is chock-full of Up with People-positive peer pressure, musical numbers that reinforce how wonderful it is to be a big kid and "say good-bye to diapers."At least for now, Z isn't buying it; she'll sleep in a big girl bed and drink out of a big girl glass, but she'll take diapers over big kid underwear, thank you very much. It's one part of babyhood she wants to hold onto a little bit longer. Might have something to do with the upcoming arrival of her baby sister.
See what other parents are saying and enter to win a copy of the DVD at Parent Bloggers Network.
Friday, May 04, 2007
From the west coast to Chicago
The Chicago Moms Blog, a sister site to the uber-successful Silicon Valley Moms Blog is coming to Chicago, and I'm going to be one of the first six contributors! Until our local site gets up and running, I'll posting periodically to the original. Check out my virgin contribution here.Want to see who else is representing our fair city? Click on the lovely and talented mamas behind Self Made Mom, Foodmomiac, Adventures in Babywearing, Want Sugar and Sassafras.
Wedding dresses from Target
Target locked up my loyalty long ago, but I have to admit I'm a little miffed that Isaac Mizrahi wasn't creating dirt-cheap wedding dresses for the discounter when I got hitched back in 1999. According to this press release, the masstige designer will debut a line of wedding gowns priced from $9.99 to $159.99 (I'm guessing the $9.99 is for a veil).Now I know only the best will do for some brides, but I've always been of the opinion that this is one dress with a really limited shelf life. Off the rack is fine. Polyester is perfectly acceptable. After all, it only has to hold up for about 6 hours.
If you're interested, I wore a $300 ivory Jessica McClintock dress with an embroidered, fitted bodice and a frothy tulle skirt. Anyone willing to share what they wore and what they paid to play princess for a day? Would you have shopped Target for your bridal wear?
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Helzberg gives one mom a month off
In honor of Mother's Day, Helzberg Diamonds wants to pamper one mom with a $10,000 prize package that includes a month's worth of maid service, laundry and dry cleaning service, spa treatments, a personal chef and limo service. Plus diamonds, naturally.
I nominated my mom. Now who's going to nominate me?
I nominated my mom. Now who's going to nominate me?
Consumer-generated content: marketing flavor of the week
Consumer-generated content is the buzzword of year at my agency. Now that other brands have embraced the promotion of the moment--the consumer-generated TV ad--our clients are trying to decide if they should climb aboard the bandwagon.
And it's already a crowded space. The word-of-mouth gurus behind the Church of the Customer blog have assembled a great recap of some of most recent (post-Super Bowl and Oscars) make-your-own-commercial promotions. The bar for participation is set pretty high, so it's not surprising that most of these contests attract a mere 200 entries, peanuts in the land of consumer promotions.
My gut tells me this is a fad on its way out, which makes me happy, because the last thing a good creative wants to do is retread someone else's work. But there's been some positive fallout from this consumer-centric approach to marketing: brand marketers are learning to cultivate a dialog with their consumers. And trust me when I say there are much more compelling, customer-service oriented ways to reach your target audience than a contest that invites the most computer-savvy, driven ones to throw together an amateur commercial. Yes, there are a few diamonds in the rough, but they tend to be budding ad creatives themselves (like the Doritos' winner).
What do you think? Do you see yourself filming and editing a commercial for one of your favorite products in the hopes of winning a fame and a fabulous prize?
And it's already a crowded space. The word-of-mouth gurus behind the Church of the Customer blog have assembled a great recap of some of most recent (post-Super Bowl and Oscars) make-your-own-commercial promotions. The bar for participation is set pretty high, so it's not surprising that most of these contests attract a mere 200 entries, peanuts in the land of consumer promotions.
My gut tells me this is a fad on its way out, which makes me happy, because the last thing a good creative wants to do is retread someone else's work. But there's been some positive fallout from this consumer-centric approach to marketing: brand marketers are learning to cultivate a dialog with their consumers. And trust me when I say there are much more compelling, customer-service oriented ways to reach your target audience than a contest that invites the most computer-savvy, driven ones to throw together an amateur commercial. Yes, there are a few diamonds in the rough, but they tend to be budding ad creatives themselves (like the Doritos' winner).
What do you think? Do you see yourself filming and editing a commercial for one of your favorite products in the hopes of winning a fame and a fabulous prize?
Fake bake in a bottle
No less than the venerable NY Times is writing about self-tanners, worrying that these supposedly harmless bronzers are reinforcing the unsafe tan as a beauty ideal. I'm a fair-haired, pale-skinned gal myself, and I'm pretty vigilant about using SPF. Hell, I use a face moisturizer with SPF 15 even in the darkest days of the Chicago winter. But I'll admit I own a tube or two of Jergens Natural Glow. I like the way it give my face a hint of "healthy" color and makes my legs look a teensy bit thinner. But I hate the smell and the potential for tan palms, so I'll only use it in the summertime, when my ghostlike complexion becomes an issue.
So I'm asking you, of the dozens of moisturizers with gradual self-tanner mixed in, has one of them managed to mask that unmistakable self-tanner smell?
And more philosophically, do you think that self-tanners are perpetuating our preoccupation with suntans? Will we ever embrace ivory skin?
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
31 cent scoop night
Get your ice cream for next to nothing and show your support for the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation during this evening's 31¢ scoop night at Baskin-Robbins. May I suggest the Heath Bar Crunch, one of their new Hershey's flavors? The deal's good from 5-10pm tonight.
Toy envy
Parenthacker recommends this toy Animal Hospital, and I gotta say, it looks like it brings together all of the elements Z loves best: keys, animals, doctor equipment and little places to put things.
I kind of want to play with it myself.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Restaurant review: La Cocina
Dear La Cocina,
I'm torn. I love seeing how successful you've become, but today's wait for a burrito positively turned my legs to jelly. I've told countless coworkers about the "little Mexican place across the street from Chipotle," because your staff is sweet, the basket of fresh tortilla chips (eat-in only) is addictive, and the imported sodas come in glass bottles (and they're made with real sugar instead of HFCS).
But today I stood in the back of your un-airconditioned storefront, the fans whipping stray napkins around my legs and the stereo blaring club beats (perhaps you should name your place Disco Taco?) as you called numbers 84-93. Then you called 99, 98 and 96. My number was 94. Hello, customer service? I'm not expecting special treatment because it is hot and I am pregnant, but throwing my order to the bottom of the priority list is making me reconsider my love for you.
You're lucky that the burrito really hit the spot. Figuratively and literally, as I am now sporting an orange grease stain on my belly.
La Cocina
45 N. Wells St.
Chicago, IL
312-346-1638
I'm torn. I love seeing how successful you've become, but today's wait for a burrito positively turned my legs to jelly. I've told countless coworkers about the "little Mexican place across the street from Chipotle," because your staff is sweet, the basket of fresh tortilla chips (eat-in only) is addictive, and the imported sodas come in glass bottles (and they're made with real sugar instead of HFCS).
But today I stood in the back of your un-airconditioned storefront, the fans whipping stray napkins around my legs and the stereo blaring club beats (perhaps you should name your place Disco Taco?) as you called numbers 84-93. Then you called 99, 98 and 96. My number was 94. Hello, customer service? I'm not expecting special treatment because it is hot and I am pregnant, but throwing my order to the bottom of the priority list is making me reconsider my love for you.
You're lucky that the burrito really hit the spot. Figuratively and literally, as I am now sporting an orange grease stain on my belly.
La Cocina
45 N. Wells St.
Chicago, IL
312-346-1638
It was a zoo
A beautiful Sunday morning and every family in the Western Suburbs seemed to have the same idea: Brookfield Zoo. There was a traffic jam 20 minutes long just to get into the zoo 30 minutes after opening, and by the time we left, the zoo police had closed the entrance altogether.
Here's a shot of the ticket taking counter. Everyone waiting here has a zoo membership or has already paid for their single day ticket. Zoo management, is this step really necessary? It seems a little insane to me.
Inside the zoo, things weren't much more spacious. I've never seen so many strollers and wagons in my life! But at least we could say no to snacks and the merry-go-round on account of the lines.
Did I mention we went with friends? Yes, four cars worth of mommies, daddies, toddlers and babies faced the crowds and came home smiling (if exhausted).
Here's a shot of the ticket taking counter. Everyone waiting here has a zoo membership or has already paid for their single day ticket. Zoo management, is this step really necessary? It seems a little insane to me.
Inside the zoo, things weren't much more spacious. I've never seen so many strollers and wagons in my life! But at least we could say no to snacks and the merry-go-round on account of the lines.
Did I mention we went with friends? Yes, four cars worth of mommies, daddies, toddlers and babies faced the crowds and came home smiling (if exhausted).
Monday, April 30, 2007
The things we do for love
Or, in my case, for work.My agency sponsors a number of morale-boosting annual outings, and one of them is a bowling party where employees who otherwise don't work with each other are thrown together on teams and expected to come up with a creative team name, a team poster (each team gets an art director) and costumes.
I was on vacation when our team's name was selected, but I gamely sported press-on ink and the world's largest, most unflattering white bowling shirt as one of the Tattoo Love Bowlers (a play on the semi-obscure song "Tattoo Love Boys"--I'd suggested The Devil Wears Bowling Shoes).
Let me tell you, putting on a huge white men's shirt and throwing gutter balls under black lights next to skinny, more racily dressed co-workers (other teams included send-ups of Desperate Housewives and The Girls Next Door) is not the way to feel attractive when you're 7 months pregnant.
Let me tell you, putting on a huge white men's shirt and throwing gutter balls under black lights next to skinny, more racily dressed co-workers (other teams included send-ups of Desperate Housewives and The Girls Next Door) is not the way to feel attractive when you're 7 months pregnant.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Blond ambitions
As we were heading out to the ABC orientation, I walked across the yard to say goodbye to Z, who was playing in the wet sand in our neighbor's back yard. Our babysitter says to me, "Z just told me she's going to get older and be a Mommy and she's making soup."
Indeed, Z is stirring together a lovely muddy liquid. "I'm a Mommy to cook soup. It's hot hot! Don't touch my soup, Mommy! I need to stir in an ice cube to cool it off before you eat it."
And here I'd always thought I'd been quite sneaky about stirring ice into her food to cool it off. Nothing gets past this kid.
Indeed, Z is stirring together a lovely muddy liquid. "I'm a Mommy to cook soup. It's hot hot! Don't touch my soup, Mommy! I need to stir in an ice cube to cool it off before you eat it."
And here I'd always thought I'd been quite sneaky about stirring ice into her food to cool it off. Nothing gets past this kid.
T-minus 11 weeks and counting
Josh and I attended the Alternative Birthing Center orientation at West Suburban Medical Center this afternoon, and I've got to give the place props. I don't much care for the crosses in every room, but the ABC birthing rooms are fabulous! They're the size of an Embassy Suites suite and feature a real queen-sized bed, a huge birthing tub, a bathroom with shower, a warming isolette and a wooden bassinet, a refrigerator and microwave, a birthing ball, a birthing stool and a rocking chair. And unlike every other hospital in the area, you're encouraged to bring and eat your favorite foods (you aren't limited to ice chips) and you can videotape the birth, if desired.
All this is yours, provided you make it to 37 weeks and don't require any medical interventions. Need pitocin to start your labor? Off to the regular L&D rooms. Decide you can't live without an epidural? You're outta there!
From what I've heard from friends who've delivered in the ABC, the postpartum experience at West Sub doesn't measure up. They move you out of the ABC about 6 hours after the birth, and the hospital food's mediocre, the staff isn't terribly attentive, and the intercoms blare pages all day and night.
All this is yours, provided you make it to 37 weeks and don't require any medical interventions. Need pitocin to start your labor? Off to the regular L&D rooms. Decide you can't live without an epidural? You're outta there!
From what I've heard from friends who've delivered in the ABC, the postpartum experience at West Sub doesn't measure up. They move you out of the ABC about 6 hours after the birth, and the hospital food's mediocre, the staff isn't terribly attentive, and the intercoms blare pages all day and night.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Eating out in Oak Park
Food is one of my favorite things, and while I'm blessed with both a mother who gave me confidence in the kitchen and a husband who can cook circles around most people (and he only started dinner duty about a year or so ago), I still love to eat out.
Occasionally I'm asked for restaurant recommendations in and around my home base of Oak Park, Illinois, so here are my most-loved places.
Bar Louie
1122 Lake St., Oak Park
The most recent outpost of this Chicago chain, Bar Louie's only first on my list because of its placement in the alphabet. But it is a go-to place for gluttonous portions of well-prepared bar food, and it's right down the block from the Lake Theatre. I particularly love their fries and anything with wing sauce on it. And my daughter put away most of a trough of gooey, delicious macaroni and cheese.
Buzz Cafe
905 S. Lombard Ave, Oak Park
There probably isn't a more kid-friendly restaurant around. In addition to stocking toys in the back lounge, the Buzz offers healthy, yummy-if-not-gourmet fare and familiar kiddie foods like organic PB&J and Annie's mac & cheese. Live music on Friday evenings and political debates make this coffeehouse a community gathering place.
Blue Max
26 Lathrop Ave., Forest Park
Cute as can button, Blue Max is easy to miss. It looks like a regular house in a residential neighborhood, but this B&B without the bed scores big points for house-roasted coffee, homemade bakery goods and casual meals featuring local and organic ingredients whereever possible. The management is super-nice and Z appreciates the children's corner, which is well-stocked with toys (but closed during the lunch rush).
The Depot American Diner
5840 W. Roosevelt Ave.
A brand-new restaurant, this throwback diner brings back the good old days when menus stated the names of the dishes without any description. I got the BLT. Turns out it was one of the best BLTs of my life, which isn't surprising since everything they serve is house made. The turkey on Josh's open faced sandwich was from a real honest-to-goodness bird, not a smooth, preprepared deli slice. We've got to go there for breakfast next since LTH Forum is abuzz over their homemade doughnuts. The prices are pretty old-fashioned too: dinner for three cost us $21.
Freddy's Pizza
1600 S. 61st Ave., Cicero
It doesn't look like much from the outside, but this tiny Italian deli in Cicero serves up the area's best fresh-baked bread, pizza and gelato, as well as a large assortment of entrees and appetizers that change daily. Much of their business is take-out, but you can grab your meal and eat it in the spartan dining area just next door. Family-run, their hours are not for your convenience, so don't go after 7pm or any time on Sunday.
Jimmy's Place
7411 Madison St., Forest Park
I've been kicking myself for taking so long to discover Jimmy's Place, which I ignored for years as it is surrounded by other good Italian restaurants. But it deserves recognition for fabulous pasta dishes and for being a great value (entrees include a soup or salad). We found the service to be super-friendly and happy to see kids. Jimmy's has a true neighborhood feel; don't be surprised if the owner, Jimmy, shows you to your seat between chatting up the regulars.
La Piazza
If Jimmy's is the Italian place to take your family, La Piazza (just down the Madison strip) is the place to bring a date. Chef Gaetano Di Benedetto serves inventive Sicilian cuisine in a cozy three room restaurant painted with trompe l'oeil murals. I've never been disappointed by their pastas, risottos or desserts. Although they'll accommodate you with a high chair, La Piazza's not the best place to bring little kids. If you can't get a sitter, get take-out.
Papaspiros
733 Lake St., Oak Park
Stop here for Greek food as good (or better) than anything you'll find in Greektown. I find some of the dinner entrees a little too heavy, but that could be because I've filled myself up on their delicious mezedes.
Pompei
7215 West Lake St., River Forest
Another local chain, Pompei keeps us happy with good-quality Italian-American fare in a cafeteria-style setting. Check out their salads, deep dish pizzas and stromboli-style pizza rolls, but don't miss my favorite dish, the 8-finger cavatelli. Z and I can work together to polish off an enormous bowl of the dumpling-noodles. It probably doesn't bear mentioning, but this place was built for families: short wait times, familiar foods and free balloons.
Khyber Pass
1031 Lake St., Oak Park
The only Indian restaurant in the area, but at least it's really good. Live music and dancing (usually by aging Peace Corps types) lends a nice atmosphere to this restaurant were seemingly everyone is getting the buffet.
Sagano Sushi
731 Lake St., Oak Park
It's not the absolute best sushi I've ever had, but it's fresh and it's local (the restaurant, not the fish). A tiny storefront, sleekly decorated in blond woods.
Wishbone
6611 W. Roosevelt Rd, Berwyn
Can I tell you how overjoyed I am that one of my (and Oprah's) favorite restaurants opened a location at FitzGerald's, just 5 minutes from my house? Serving "Southern Reconstruction" foods, Wishbone is rightly renowned for its breakfasts. Get the Red Eggs, two eggs served on top of corn tortillas and covered with black beans, cheese, chili ancho sauce, scallions, sour cream and salsa.
I promise I'll dedicate a future post to my favorite ice cream parlors, but until then, get your fix at Brown Cow, Hole in the Wall Custard and Oberweis.
Occasionally I'm asked for restaurant recommendations in and around my home base of Oak Park, Illinois, so here are my most-loved places.
Bar Louie
1122 Lake St., Oak Park
The most recent outpost of this Chicago chain, Bar Louie's only first on my list because of its placement in the alphabet. But it is a go-to place for gluttonous portions of well-prepared bar food, and it's right down the block from the Lake Theatre. I particularly love their fries and anything with wing sauce on it. And my daughter put away most of a trough of gooey, delicious macaroni and cheese.
Buzz Cafe
905 S. Lombard Ave, Oak Park
There probably isn't a more kid-friendly restaurant around. In addition to stocking toys in the back lounge, the Buzz offers healthy, yummy-if-not-gourmet fare and familiar kiddie foods like organic PB&J and Annie's mac & cheese. Live music on Friday evenings and political debates make this coffeehouse a community gathering place.
Blue Max
26 Lathrop Ave., Forest Park
Cute as can button, Blue Max is easy to miss. It looks like a regular house in a residential neighborhood, but this B&B without the bed scores big points for house-roasted coffee, homemade bakery goods and casual meals featuring local and organic ingredients whereever possible. The management is super-nice and Z appreciates the children's corner, which is well-stocked with toys (but closed during the lunch rush).
The Depot American Diner
5840 W. Roosevelt Ave.
A brand-new restaurant, this throwback diner brings back the good old days when menus stated the names of the dishes without any description. I got the BLT. Turns out it was one of the best BLTs of my life, which isn't surprising since everything they serve is house made. The turkey on Josh's open faced sandwich was from a real honest-to-goodness bird, not a smooth, preprepared deli slice. We've got to go there for breakfast next since LTH Forum is abuzz over their homemade doughnuts. The prices are pretty old-fashioned too: dinner for three cost us $21.
Freddy's Pizza
1600 S. 61st Ave., Cicero
It doesn't look like much from the outside, but this tiny Italian deli in Cicero serves up the area's best fresh-baked bread, pizza and gelato, as well as a large assortment of entrees and appetizers that change daily. Much of their business is take-out, but you can grab your meal and eat it in the spartan dining area just next door. Family-run, their hours are not for your convenience, so don't go after 7pm or any time on Sunday.
Jimmy's Place
7411 Madison St., Forest Park
I've been kicking myself for taking so long to discover Jimmy's Place, which I ignored for years as it is surrounded by other good Italian restaurants. But it deserves recognition for fabulous pasta dishes and for being a great value (entrees include a soup or salad). We found the service to be super-friendly and happy to see kids. Jimmy's has a true neighborhood feel; don't be surprised if the owner, Jimmy, shows you to your seat between chatting up the regulars.
La Piazza
If Jimmy's is the Italian place to take your family, La Piazza (just down the Madison strip) is the place to bring a date. Chef Gaetano Di Benedetto serves inventive Sicilian cuisine in a cozy three room restaurant painted with trompe l'oeil murals. I've never been disappointed by their pastas, risottos or desserts. Although they'll accommodate you with a high chair, La Piazza's not the best place to bring little kids. If you can't get a sitter, get take-out.
Papaspiros
733 Lake St., Oak Park
Stop here for Greek food as good (or better) than anything you'll find in Greektown. I find some of the dinner entrees a little too heavy, but that could be because I've filled myself up on their delicious mezedes.
Pompei
7215 West Lake St., River Forest
Another local chain, Pompei keeps us happy with good-quality Italian-American fare in a cafeteria-style setting. Check out their salads, deep dish pizzas and stromboli-style pizza rolls, but don't miss my favorite dish, the 8-finger cavatelli. Z and I can work together to polish off an enormous bowl of the dumpling-noodles. It probably doesn't bear mentioning, but this place was built for families: short wait times, familiar foods and free balloons.
Khyber Pass
1031 Lake St., Oak Park
The only Indian restaurant in the area, but at least it's really good. Live music and dancing (usually by aging Peace Corps types) lends a nice atmosphere to this restaurant were seemingly everyone is getting the buffet.
Sagano Sushi
731 Lake St., Oak Park
It's not the absolute best sushi I've ever had, but it's fresh and it's local (the restaurant, not the fish). A tiny storefront, sleekly decorated in blond woods.
Wishbone
6611 W. Roosevelt Rd, Berwyn
Can I tell you how overjoyed I am that one of my (and Oprah's) favorite restaurants opened a location at FitzGerald's, just 5 minutes from my house? Serving "Southern Reconstruction" foods, Wishbone is rightly renowned for its breakfasts. Get the Red Eggs, two eggs served on top of corn tortillas and covered with black beans, cheese, chili ancho sauce, scallions, sour cream and salsa.
I promise I'll dedicate a future post to my favorite ice cream parlors, but until then, get your fix at Brown Cow, Hole in the Wall Custard and Oberweis.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Buzzing books
The NY Times has an interesting article, Mommy Books: More Buzz than Buyers, that reports that all of the lively blogosphere and TV chatter around Leslie Bennetts' The Feminine Mistake hasn't translated into book sales for the $25 hardback. And I'll admit it, I haven't read the book either, but I've delved into the book's premise--that mothers who opt out of the workforce altogether risk financial ruin should divorce or death end their marriages--through reading book reviews and blogs as well as the excerpt in Glamour magazine. I've talked about it with friends.
Motherhood and the choices we make make for endlessly interesting topics when you're right in the think of it. It's emotionally charged stuff. I think working moms are happy to hear they're not ruining their children's lives and stay-at-home moms are outraged and insulted by Bennetts' argument. Mommy buzz for a nonfiction book can't be compared to mommy buzz for a consumer product like diapers. It's about the exchange of ideas, not the recommendation of one brand over another or the word-of-mouth a new product innovation might generate. And honestly, hardback books are a pricey investment. I'm a pretty big reader, but 90 percent of the books I read I check out from the library. And I don't feel bad for Bennett. By triggering such a tsunami of talk, she's got her career made.
Motherhood and the choices we make make for endlessly interesting topics when you're right in the think of it. It's emotionally charged stuff. I think working moms are happy to hear they're not ruining their children's lives and stay-at-home moms are outraged and insulted by Bennetts' argument. Mommy buzz for a nonfiction book can't be compared to mommy buzz for a consumer product like diapers. It's about the exchange of ideas, not the recommendation of one brand over another or the word-of-mouth a new product innovation might generate. And honestly, hardback books are a pricey investment. I'm a pretty big reader, but 90 percent of the books I read I check out from the library. And I don't feel bad for Bennett. By triggering such a tsunami of talk, she's got her career made.
Bookshelf: Kabul Beauty School
Wow, you just can't make this stuff up! Imagine an memoir written by a spunky hairdresser from Michigan who is married to an abusive minister. Okay, that sounds pretty boilerplate. But here's what happens next. 9/11. And Deborah Rodriguez leaves her kids and no-good spouse behind and heads off to Afghanistan to do a little Christian relief work.
She ends up founding a beauty school in Kabul, a place that not only offers women a private sanctuary to look pretty and connect with others, but the opportunity to make serious money in a city where women are largely unemployable. Kabul Beauty School is a beautiful, touching, and sometimes hilarious look at women's lives behind the veil in modern Afghanistan. We meet her friends and students and learn about the immense--sometimes insurmountable--challenges these women face in a patriarchal, traditional and very religious society. Deborah marries into the culture (she basically lets her friends arrange a marriage for her!), giving her the kind of intimate access travel writers and journalists just can't match.
And here's an interesting tidbit about me: I lived in neighboring Pakistan during my middle school years.
Mother Knows Tech
Google Chicago invited local mommy blogger Selfmademom to a marketing to moms mini conference, and she live blogged some useful insights. As both target audience and a CPG marketing creative, I eat this stuff up.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
My little scholar
Z aced her "interview" at the local Montessori preschool and is being offered a place in this fall's incoming class. Watching her interact with the head teacher and try her hand at the "big work," I thought I was going to explode with pride.
Going places, meeting people
Josh talked me out of taking the nonstop red-eye home from Portland, but my miles-only alternative was a 1-stop flight from Portland to Chicago via San Francisco. Which means I spent a good deal of yesterday en route (takeoff was at 1:50pm PST and I didn't land until 10:30pm CST). But I met a few interesting people along the way.
Jet Set Jordanians
This family of five included dancing, Doritos-munching boys about 4 and 5 and an 18 month old little girl who whimpered "baby, baby" as stroller after stroller wheeled by. They had already been traveling for 20 hours when I sat across from them in the PDX departure lounge. Their torturous route home was Amman, Jordan to Frankfurt, Germany, Frankfurt to Portland, Portland to San Francisco, and finally San Francisco to Marin County.
Full-Figured Father of Four
He gamely squeezed into the middle seat between me and another woman about my age and
congratulated me on my July due date. Apparently most of his large family celebrate their birthdays that month. We both carried on sandwiches from SFO's Boudin Bakery. He bailed on The Holiday to play Brick Breaker on his Blackberry for the remaining 2 1/2 hours of the flight.
Drunk Chick
I groaned inwardly when the 40-something redhead in a belly shirt, rhinestone-studded hip huggers and flip flops sat down in front of me and reclined her seat to its maximum before takeoff.
It sucks to have inches between your mouth and someone else's hair, but I buried my face in a book and made the best of it. That is, until an hour and a half later and I couldn't hold it any longer. It was virtually impossible to get up out of my seat with a 7 month belly and minimal clearance. But I'll give the bedazzled barmaid credit, when she saw my girth she eased up a bit on the recline and found relaxation in a can of Heineken. Which she managed to spill into the aisle (and splash across my right side). So she ordered a replacement can. And spilled half of that. Then she dropped her sunglasses. Her earrings. And so on. When the flight attendant joked that she'd smell like a brewery on the way home and she slurred something about "I always do. I own one."
My Ancient Cabdriver
If I tried to recount everything I learned about the greasy hair-smelling 67-year-old retired truck driver who claimed his shaking hands were a result of nerve damage from biting his nails to the quick, I'd be blogging all day. But highlights included learning that my cab driver drove a J.B. Hunt big rig most of his life, stopping at home to see "the missus" and her three children from a previous marriage (the first husband fell off of construction scaffolding and plunged to his death) for a few days every six weeks. He was proud of the three boys he'd helped raise, particularly the son who drives a garbage truck for the City of Chicago for $26 an hour, double that on Sundays.
His words of wisdom:
"Go to big rig driving school. They'll teach you a lot in 10 weeks. You'll graduate knowing how to fix your own brakes and brake shoes. Materials only cost $60. Save you a lot of money on repairs."
"If you're ever laid up, you can call Blue Cab to get your prescriptions and groceries picked up." (This was followed by detailed instructions on what to say to the druggist and a tale of a Park Ridge Realtor who apparently orders $300 worth of groceries every month from the River Forest Whole Foods and has them delivered to his office.)
"Always take the Mannheim Rd. exit when you're driving east on I-290. That way you'll avoid getting trapped in traffic in the middle lane. You can exit at Mannheim if traffic gets bad beyond the curves. And if you're ever in Oak Brook at rush hour, don't try to get on the Eisenhower at Roosevelt. They close the entrance ramp. Take Cermak to Mannheim and get on there."
Jet Set Jordanians
This family of five included dancing, Doritos-munching boys about 4 and 5 and an 18 month old little girl who whimpered "baby, baby" as stroller after stroller wheeled by. They had already been traveling for 20 hours when I sat across from them in the PDX departure lounge. Their torturous route home was Amman, Jordan to Frankfurt, Germany, Frankfurt to Portland, Portland to San Francisco, and finally San Francisco to Marin County.
Full-Figured Father of Four
He gamely squeezed into the middle seat between me and another woman about my age and
congratulated me on my July due date. Apparently most of his large family celebrate their birthdays that month. We both carried on sandwiches from SFO's Boudin Bakery. He bailed on The Holiday to play Brick Breaker on his Blackberry for the remaining 2 1/2 hours of the flight.
Drunk Chick
I groaned inwardly when the 40-something redhead in a belly shirt, rhinestone-studded hip huggers and flip flops sat down in front of me and reclined her seat to its maximum before takeoff.
It sucks to have inches between your mouth and someone else's hair, but I buried my face in a book and made the best of it. That is, until an hour and a half later and I couldn't hold it any longer. It was virtually impossible to get up out of my seat with a 7 month belly and minimal clearance. But I'll give the bedazzled barmaid credit, when she saw my girth she eased up a bit on the recline and found relaxation in a can of Heineken. Which she managed to spill into the aisle (and splash across my right side). So she ordered a replacement can. And spilled half of that. Then she dropped her sunglasses. Her earrings. And so on. When the flight attendant joked that she'd smell like a brewery on the way home and she slurred something about "I always do. I own one."
My Ancient Cabdriver
If I tried to recount everything I learned about the greasy hair-smelling 67-year-old retired truck driver who claimed his shaking hands were a result of nerve damage from biting his nails to the quick, I'd be blogging all day. But highlights included learning that my cab driver drove a J.B. Hunt big rig most of his life, stopping at home to see "the missus" and her three children from a previous marriage (the first husband fell off of construction scaffolding and plunged to his death) for a few days every six weeks. He was proud of the three boys he'd helped raise, particularly the son who drives a garbage truck for the City of Chicago for $26 an hour, double that on Sundays.
His words of wisdom:
"Go to big rig driving school. They'll teach you a lot in 10 weeks. You'll graduate knowing how to fix your own brakes and brake shoes. Materials only cost $60. Save you a lot of money on repairs."
"If you're ever laid up, you can call Blue Cab to get your prescriptions and groceries picked up." (This was followed by detailed instructions on what to say to the druggist and a tale of a Park Ridge Realtor who apparently orders $300 worth of groceries every month from the River Forest Whole Foods and has them delivered to his office.)
"Always take the Mannheim Rd. exit when you're driving east on I-290. That way you'll avoid getting trapped in traffic in the middle lane. You can exit at Mannheim if traffic gets bad beyond the curves. And if you're ever in Oak Brook at rush hour, don't try to get on the Eisenhower at Roosevelt. They close the entrance ramp. Take Cermak to Mannheim and get on there."
Monday, April 23, 2007
About to leave Portland
I've had a wonderful time visiting with Franny in one of my favorite cities, but I miss Josh and Z something terrible. I didn't realize how torturous it would be to see mothers and toddlers in every direction. And every place we visited I wished I could share with one of them.
We got pampered at Zanana Spa and went to the OMSI, sort of a small, more kid-oriented version of the Museum of Science and Industry, and I saw so much I knew Z would get a kick out of. Personally, I thought it was neat to see a thermal scan of my body and visual proof that my hands are hotter than Franny's (always have been). Z would have also loved romping through the Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden, where I took 90 percent of my photos.
Restaurants and coffee shops made me wish I'd brought along my foodie husband. We had takeout from the Delta Cafe (including some raw BBQ chicken), coffeecake and muffins from Arleta Library Cafe, decent neuvo latino at OBA and an enormous breakfast of Grand Marnier french toast at Everett Street Bistro. One evening I cooked for Franny and Dave, demonstrating how ridiculously easy it is to roast a chicken and make your own vinaigrette.
I also got in more (tax free!) shopping than I've done in months, scoring gifts for my much-missed family and some goodies for myself, including a crocheted hat from the Saturday Market, robin's egg blue mary jane-style Crocs, two headbands and a new pair of sunglasses that Josh is going to hate (they're fashionably BIG). And I helped Franny shop for a pair of jeans to show off her new skinny self.
Anyway, big shout-outs to both of the husbands for letting us have four days of virtually uninterrupted girl time.
We got pampered at Zanana Spa and went to the OMSI, sort of a small, more kid-oriented version of the Museum of Science and Industry, and I saw so much I knew Z would get a kick out of. Personally, I thought it was neat to see a thermal scan of my body and visual proof that my hands are hotter than Franny's (always have been). Z would have also loved romping through the Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden, where I took 90 percent of my photos.
Restaurants and coffee shops made me wish I'd brought along my foodie husband. We had takeout from the Delta Cafe (including some raw BBQ chicken), coffeecake and muffins from Arleta Library Cafe, decent neuvo latino at OBA and an enormous breakfast of Grand Marnier french toast at Everett Street Bistro. One evening I cooked for Franny and Dave, demonstrating how ridiculously easy it is to roast a chicken and make your own vinaigrette.
I also got in more (tax free!) shopping than I've done in months, scoring gifts for my much-missed family and some goodies for myself, including a crocheted hat from the Saturday Market, robin's egg blue mary jane-style Crocs, two headbands and a new pair of sunglasses that Josh is going to hate (they're fashionably BIG). And I helped Franny shop for a pair of jeans to show off her new skinny self.
Anyway, big shout-outs to both of the husbands for letting us have four days of virtually uninterrupted girl time.
Friday, April 20, 2007
I've arrived
When I checked in at United.com, I wasn't able to get a seat assignment, and I wasn't too thrilled to be handed a B (read, center aisle) boarding pass at the gate. The good news, however, was that my center seat was the very first row of Economy. Economy Plus, to be exact. Which means that I wasn't climbing over anyone any of the five times I got up to pee.
Other bonuses, aside from the fact that none of the toddlers on board belonged to me, included an in-flight showing of The Pursuit of Happyness, which I hadn't seen yet, and the fact that the memoir I brought along is a real page-turner.
Franny picked me up at the lovely Portland Airport (did you know their parking garage tells you which aisles have spaces available?), and we spent the afternoon browsing at Powell's and some of the other boutiques in the area. I met my craving for good, chewy crust pizza at Pizza Shmizza, where I inhaled two NYC-sized cheese slices. Why oh why can't Chicago duplicate the pizza by the slice experience?
Other bonuses, aside from the fact that none of the toddlers on board belonged to me, included an in-flight showing of The Pursuit of Happyness, which I hadn't seen yet, and the fact that the memoir I brought along is a real page-turner.
Franny picked me up at the lovely Portland Airport (did you know their parking garage tells you which aisles have spaces available?), and we spent the afternoon browsing at Powell's and some of the other boutiques in the area. I met my craving for good, chewy crust pizza at Pizza Shmizza, where I inhaled two NYC-sized cheese slices. Why oh why can't Chicago duplicate the pizza by the slice experience?
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Potty training theories abound
As I've mentioned before, my 29-month-old daughter has total control of her bodily functions and talks the potty talk like nobody's business, but she'll only do her business in a diaper.
Josh and I read Toilet Training in Less than a Day and The Pocket Idiot's Guide to Potty Training Problems, and we agreed that the old-fashioned approach of the former probably wouldn't work for Z since it was largely focused on potty education and avoiding accidents--two issues we don't need to address. The second book pointed out some mistakes we'd been making. It recommends against talking about "being a big girl" and "making Mommy proud," since sometimes kids don't want to grow up so fast--they want to hold onto some of their babyhood. Instead, we let Z pick out a nice new potty chair from Target and gave her lots of opportunities to practice going on it. She taught her teddy bear how to go and spent lots of time pulling her underpants up and down. She wore panties most of the time, only switching to diapers for naps and bedtime and the occasional "I need a diaper" gotta-go-right-now emergency.
But as much as she enjoys showing off her underwear and her potty, we're not seeing any progress in the actual use of the potty. So we asked my midwife (a mother of 5) if she had any insights. Her advice? Tell our daughter that she isn't ready for underwear. Say she's still "a bit of a baby who needs to wear diapers and as such, we're putting all the potties away until she gets bigger." No more taking her special potty to daycare or showing it off to friends and family. She can't have it until she's ready to really use it.
Basically, Hillary recommends a healthy dose of reverse psychology. She says all the hard work is done: Z knows how to sense an urge and control the flow, and she's got the mechanics of flushing and hand-washing done. We just need to wait for her to decide she's ready to pee in the potty and we should be home free.
Anyone want to take bets on how long that'll take?
Josh and I read Toilet Training in Less than a Day and The Pocket Idiot's Guide to Potty Training Problems, and we agreed that the old-fashioned approach of the former probably wouldn't work for Z since it was largely focused on potty education and avoiding accidents--two issues we don't need to address. The second book pointed out some mistakes we'd been making. It recommends against talking about "being a big girl" and "making Mommy proud," since sometimes kids don't want to grow up so fast--they want to hold onto some of their babyhood. Instead, we let Z pick out a nice new potty chair from Target and gave her lots of opportunities to practice going on it. She taught her teddy bear how to go and spent lots of time pulling her underpants up and down. She wore panties most of the time, only switching to diapers for naps and bedtime and the occasional "I need a diaper" gotta-go-right-now emergency.
But as much as she enjoys showing off her underwear and her potty, we're not seeing any progress in the actual use of the potty. So we asked my midwife (a mother of 5) if she had any insights. Her advice? Tell our daughter that she isn't ready for underwear. Say she's still "a bit of a baby who needs to wear diapers and as such, we're putting all the potties away until she gets bigger." No more taking her special potty to daycare or showing it off to friends and family. She can't have it until she's ready to really use it.
Basically, Hillary recommends a healthy dose of reverse psychology. She says all the hard work is done: Z knows how to sense an urge and control the flow, and she's got the mechanics of flushing and hand-washing done. We just need to wait for her to decide she's ready to pee in the potty and we should be home free.
Anyone want to take bets on how long that'll take?
Portland here I come
Tomorrow morning I'm boarding a plane by myself. There will be no car seats. No sippy cups. No snacks. No portable DVD player showing potty movies.
Just me, a Luna bar, Kabul Beauty School and the most recent issue of The New Yorker. And as much as I'm looking forward to flying solo, what I'm really excited about is the destination. I'm headed to Portland, Oregon to visit my BFF and her family. We've got a fabulous girls' weekend planned. A spa visit, the Saturday Market, Powell's Books, the Pearl District, great restaurants and the Portland Art Museum are all on the agenda.
I feel a little guilty about leaving Josh alone with Z for four days--but, sweetheart that he is, he encouraged me to get in this last trip before we're both stuck at home with two small children.
Just me, a Luna bar, Kabul Beauty School and the most recent issue of The New Yorker. And as much as I'm looking forward to flying solo, what I'm really excited about is the destination. I'm headed to Portland, Oregon to visit my BFF and her family. We've got a fabulous girls' weekend planned. A spa visit, the Saturday Market, Powell's Books, the Pearl District, great restaurants and the Portland Art Museum are all on the agenda.
I feel a little guilty about leaving Josh alone with Z for four days--but, sweetheart that he is, he encouraged me to get in this last trip before we're both stuck at home with two small children.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Go ahead, crack my back
I received my very first chiropractic adjustment this evening. I'd been hearing good things about the chiropractor down the hall from my midwives' office, so when I started experiencing lower back and pelvic pain, I made an appointment for an evaluation with Dr. Manning. He specializes in prenatal chiropractic care, and while I've seen a couple of male patients there, most of the people I saw there obviously with child.
The evaluation was thorough and I liked Dr. Manning personally. He pointed out the scoliosis I'd been diagnosed with during an elementary school screening, showed Josh how one of my legs was slightly longer than the other and said my pelvis and sacrum were out of whack. (No surprise there: my yoga teacher's pointed out my back problems before.) He also took a bunch of measurements with a weird little scanner and told me to come back the following week for my results.
And that's where things got a little weird. The results one-on-one were preceeded by group orientation with two other new patients. He showed this terrible Maximize Your Potential PowerPoint presentation full of New Age mumbo-jumbo about the miracle of chiropractic care. It sounded so Scientology-esque I began to worry the guy was going to pull out a Tom Cruise-approved e-meter.
I made an appointment, but reached out to my primary care doctor to make sure I wasn't being taken in by a quack. She recommended I go forward with the treatments, and that's why I showed up today.
And you know what? I still don't buy all the hocus-pocus, but I feel great.
The evaluation was thorough and I liked Dr. Manning personally. He pointed out the scoliosis I'd been diagnosed with during an elementary school screening, showed Josh how one of my legs was slightly longer than the other and said my pelvis and sacrum were out of whack. (No surprise there: my yoga teacher's pointed out my back problems before.) He also took a bunch of measurements with a weird little scanner and told me to come back the following week for my results.
And that's where things got a little weird. The results one-on-one were preceeded by group orientation with two other new patients. He showed this terrible Maximize Your Potential PowerPoint presentation full of New Age mumbo-jumbo about the miracle of chiropractic care. It sounded so Scientology-esque I began to worry the guy was going to pull out a Tom Cruise-approved e-meter.
I made an appointment, but reached out to my primary care doctor to make sure I wasn't being taken in by a quack. She recommended I go forward with the treatments, and that's why I showed up today.
And you know what? I still don't buy all the hocus-pocus, but I feel great.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Lovely or just large?
Said one of the cute young things in my agency this morning, "Wow! You're getting really close, huh?" And one of the 20-something guys a few days earlier, "You're just about ready to pop!"
Um, no. I've got three months to go. Thanks anyway.
It seems that my pregnant belly is a popular conversation starter at the office. I don't mind, honestly. But I prefer that comments given with a little more grace and style.
Other women--particularly other moms--will ask how I'm feeling and dig for names (we're not sharing). They'll ask if Z knows there's a baby coming and is she excited? If I've got a particularly cute outfit on, someone will likely notice. And heck, I'll admit I dress for my girlfriends--my husband couldn't care less.
And then there's this tattooed creative director who's raising two kids on his own. He never fails to say I'm looking wonderful/great/amazing. He never complimented me before I sprouted a full-frontal basketball, but I wouldn't have expected him to. In fact, under normal circumstances it would probably be weird, but now that I'm in a family way, his kind words never fail to give me a lift--and a touch of that pregnancy glow.
Um, no. I've got three months to go. Thanks anyway.
It seems that my pregnant belly is a popular conversation starter at the office. I don't mind, honestly. But I prefer that comments given with a little more grace and style.
Other women--particularly other moms--will ask how I'm feeling and dig for names (we're not sharing). They'll ask if Z knows there's a baby coming and is she excited? If I've got a particularly cute outfit on, someone will likely notice. And heck, I'll admit I dress for my girlfriends--my husband couldn't care less.
And then there's this tattooed creative director who's raising two kids on his own. He never fails to say I'm looking wonderful/great/amazing. He never complimented me before I sprouted a full-frontal basketball, but I wouldn't have expected him to. In fact, under normal circumstances it would probably be weird, but now that I'm in a family way, his kind words never fail to give me a lift--and a touch of that pregnancy glow.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Sadness touches close to home
This weekend one of my friends received word that her sister-in-law passed away in her sleep (they don't yet know why), leaving behind a husband and three small children. Then, in a unexplainable act, a gunman goes on a rampage today at Virginia Tech, my sister's alma mater. I forwarded her a news report early this morning when the death toll was one. By the time I'd checked CNN again, it was up to 22. Half an hour later and we're at 31. It's horrifying. I can only hope they don't raise the number again before the sun rises in Australia.
My heart goes out to the students, their families and alumni who surely never hoped to see their university garner this kind of international attention.
My heart goes out to the students, their families and alumni who surely never hoped to see their university garner this kind of international attention.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
It's not twins
I was paying for my purchases at the West Suburban Mothers of Multiples rummage sale this morning when I overheard this exchange between one of the volunteer cashiers and the very, very large bellied woman next to me.
Cashier: Expecting twins?
Mom: No, I have a one year old and I'm due any day now.
Cashier: Did you sign up for our mailing list?
Mom: I'm not having twins!
Cashier: Oh not that. It's just to receive notice of our sales.
Mom: I found this one, didn't I?
It was somewhat insane, as all of these sales are, but pickings were really good. I didn't bother fighting over the most coveted baby gear (bouncy seats and swings), heading straight back to the clothing tables while Josh and Z test-drove the toys. Our best scores: a Talbot Baby layette set for #2, Merrell beach shoes for Z and a wooden tool box filled with toy tools.
Cashier: Expecting twins?
Mom: No, I have a one year old and I'm due any day now.
Cashier: Did you sign up for our mailing list?
Mom: I'm not having twins!
Cashier: Oh not that. It's just to receive notice of our sales.
Mom: I found this one, didn't I?
It was somewhat insane, as all of these sales are, but pickings were really good. I didn't bother fighting over the most coveted baby gear (bouncy seats and swings), heading straight back to the clothing tables while Josh and Z test-drove the toys. Our best scores: a Talbot Baby layette set for #2, Merrell beach shoes for Z and a wooden tool box filled with toy tools.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Mommy angst
I was so excited to get my review copy of Even June Cleaver Would Forget the Juice Box in the mail yesterday. I'm only a few chapters in, but the book argues that mothers need to maintain their sanity--and themselves--by aiming a little less high. In this age of extreme parenting, internal and external expectations for moms are so elevated and unrealistic that we're setting ourselves up for failure. Society expects us to do everything right: Breastfeed exclusively. Practice babywearing. Make our own organic baby food. Put our families before our careers. Sign our children up for the right enrichment activities. Buy them the right toys. Send them to preschool, ensure they get into the right college. Keep them happy and entertained at all costs.
And most importantly, love every minute of it. Find utter fulfillment in being a mommy.
But guess what? Motherhood isn't a primrose path. It's one of the best choices I've ever made, don't get me wrong. But while it's cool to bitch about being stressed out, it's not socially acceptable to admit that playing with Play-Doh is boring, that we miss staying out or sleeping in...that as much as we'll always love our children, sometimes we don't like them very much.
Enter True Mom Confessions, an anonymous website where mothers can unload their mommy guilt. Some of the posts are funny. More than a few are sad. But what's even sadder is knowing that women need a deep, dark corner of the Internet to share their insecurities.
And most importantly, love every minute of it. Find utter fulfillment in being a mommy.
But guess what? Motherhood isn't a primrose path. It's one of the best choices I've ever made, don't get me wrong. But while it's cool to bitch about being stressed out, it's not socially acceptable to admit that playing with Play-Doh is boring, that we miss staying out or sleeping in...that as much as we'll always love our children, sometimes we don't like them very much.
Enter True Mom Confessions, an anonymous website where mothers can unload their mommy guilt. Some of the posts are funny. More than a few are sad. But what's even sadder is knowing that women need a deep, dark corner of the Internet to share their insecurities.
More on the potty
Said Z last night...
"I need to go potty! I need my privacy. Mommy, you wanna watch?"
And no, she didn't really go. My kid should get an Oscar for Best Performance on a Potty. She sets up. She sits. She waits. She wipes. She flushes and washes her hands. She narrates her every move.
But it's all pretend. I'm picking up my library's copy of the 1974 classic Toilet Training in Less Than a Day this weekend. Maybe they'll have some tips for training a kid who shows every sign of readiness except for the ability to pee with her diaper off.
"I need to go potty! I need my privacy. Mommy, you wanna watch?"
And no, she didn't really go. My kid should get an Oscar for Best Performance on a Potty. She sets up. She sits. She waits. She wipes. She flushes and washes her hands. She narrates her every move.
But it's all pretend. I'm picking up my library's copy of the 1974 classic Toilet Training in Less Than a Day this weekend. Maybe they'll have some tips for training a kid who shows every sign of readiness except for the ability to pee with her diaper off.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Best of Marketing Mommy
I feel a little narcissistic doing this, but my blog has grown a lot since I started over 330-odd posts ago. Friends and family are still checking in for Z anecdotes and book recommendations, but I've also found a few like-minded souls out there in the blogosphere. And apparently Marketing Mommy comes up in Google searches. Searches like "my toddler threw up milk," and "balance beam gymnastics boobs."
So for those of you who haven't been around since the very beginning, here are a few of my favorite posts.
What it's like to go on Oprah
The not-so-secret-society of parents of young children
If toddlers went to work
We're back! (a handy guide to traveling with small children)
Happy 2nd birthday
Dinner in the nude
So for those of you who haven't been around since the very beginning, here are a few of my favorite posts.
What it's like to go on Oprah
The not-so-secret-society of parents of young children
If toddlers went to work
We're back! (a handy guide to traveling with small children)
Happy 2nd birthday
Dinner in the nude
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Don Imus: Don't make us mamas mad
If, like me, you believe Don Imus deserves to have his mouth washed out with soap and worse for his offensive description of the Rutgers women's basketball team, join MomsRising and sign this petition to have him fired.
My cluttered bookshelf
I've just finished reading The Omnivore's Dilemma, which solidified my commitment to be more conscious about our food choices--particularly in the meat department. We joined a CSA with our next-door neighbors (vegetable deliveries are scheduled to begin in mid-May) and we're only purchasing naturally-raised meat and cage-free eggs. I still don't stress organic fruits and vegetables since Michael Pollan emphasizes that large-scale organic agriculture is still industrial monoculture with its own problems and sustainable, local agriculture is the model we should be supporting. There is a Wisconsin farm that sells pasture-raised beef, pork and chicken, and we're going to fill our basement freezer with an order from them soon.
To keep my marketing brain fresh, I plowed through Trillion Dollar Moms and Chocolates on the Pillow are Not Enough. The former dispels many widely-held myths about how to market to moms and the latter uses a hospitality industry model to illustrate innovative ways to connect with consumers and build lasting relationships. The most interesting take-away from Trillion Dollar Moms is the obvious-in-retrospect insight that moms connect with each other and with products based on their children's ages. Meaning that two mothers of 4-year-old boys will have plenty in common even if one mom is 28 and the other is 40. Mom demographics take a back seat to kid demographics. Which makes sense if you think about how the interests and concerns of a new mom differ from those of a mom with a preschooler or school-aged children.
On my boss Renee's recommendation, I skimmed through The Five Faces of Genius, a guide to creative thinking. I scored pretty well in the power to image, notice details, celebrate weakness and simplify, but I need to work on my Alchemist skills--the ability to make connections.
And since Josh is trying to read The Omnivore's Dilemma before it comes due at the library, I've stolen the book I gave him for his birthday: Alternadad. Funny stuff, and it really hits home (except for the excessive pot use).
To keep my marketing brain fresh, I plowed through Trillion Dollar Moms and Chocolates on the Pillow are Not Enough. The former dispels many widely-held myths about how to market to moms and the latter uses a hospitality industry model to illustrate innovative ways to connect with consumers and build lasting relationships. The most interesting take-away from Trillion Dollar Moms is the obvious-in-retrospect insight that moms connect with each other and with products based on their children's ages. Meaning that two mothers of 4-year-old boys will have plenty in common even if one mom is 28 and the other is 40. Mom demographics take a back seat to kid demographics. Which makes sense if you think about how the interests and concerns of a new mom differ from those of a mom with a preschooler or school-aged children.
On my boss Renee's recommendation, I skimmed through The Five Faces of Genius, a guide to creative thinking. I scored pretty well in the power to image, notice details, celebrate weakness and simplify, but I need to work on my Alchemist skills--the ability to make connections.
And since Josh is trying to read The Omnivore's Dilemma before it comes due at the library, I've stolen the book I gave him for his birthday: Alternadad. Funny stuff, and it really hits home (except for the excessive pot use).
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Going all night with Huggies
Since Z turned one and her output changed from mustardy baby smears to compact, flushable toddler turds, our diaper dramas have been few and far between. The up-the-back blowouts are but a distant memory (one I'll be replaying in 14 weeks or so), but nighttime can stretch even our beloved Huggies Size 4s to the limit. Some overnight leaks were change-the-sheets and wash the jammies large and many more were just-a-slight-dampness small, but Z would wake up most mornings with a diaper inflated to the limit. Bulging with pee, it would have a yellowish cast and a powerful odor. I couldn't wait to get her out of bed and onto the changing pad--no cuddles in the big bed until the kid smelled less like gerbil cage.
I guess that's what you get for letting your toddler go to bed with a full sippy cup of water.
So when Parent Bloggers Network gave me the opportunity to try out a month's worth of Huggies Overnites, I jumped at the chance. And the timing couldn't have been better. Just as the package arrived, Z started spending daycare afternoons in big-girl underpants (she's more into impressing Adriana than Mommy and Daddy). She was keeping Tinkerbell and the Princesses dry from 3:30 to 7:30pm, but she wasn't peeing in the potty. Translation: a tsunami warning was issued for the nighttime hours.
But thanks to the extra-absorbent nighttime Huggies, we survived without any flooding. Although the diapers I removed in the morning may have been the heaviest diapers ever filled by one small girl.
In many ways, Huggies Overnites resemble regular Huggies. Although they're ultra absorbent, they have the same stretchy, comfortable fit and are similarly emblazoned with characters from The Lion King, but the animals are snoozing and a moon is overhead. Z immediately made the connection and would ask me for "night-night diaper" at nap time as well as bedtime. Yeah, like I'm wasting the Hoover Dam on a backyard creek.
Net net, Huggies Overnites perform as promised, delivering maximum absorbency for the long haul at a slight cost premium. If you want to save the cash, buy your regular diapers one size up.
Find out what other parents had to say about Huggies Overnites and leave a comment for your chance to win a free package for your nighttime pee machine.
I guess that's what you get for letting your toddler go to bed with a full sippy cup of water.
So when Parent Bloggers Network gave me the opportunity to try out a month's worth of Huggies Overnites, I jumped at the chance. And the timing couldn't have been better. Just as the package arrived, Z started spending daycare afternoons in big-girl underpants (she's more into impressing Adriana than Mommy and Daddy). She was keeping Tinkerbell and the Princesses dry from 3:30 to 7:30pm, but she wasn't peeing in the potty. Translation: a tsunami warning was issued for the nighttime hours.
But thanks to the extra-absorbent nighttime Huggies, we survived without any flooding. Although the diapers I removed in the morning may have been the heaviest diapers ever filled by one small girl.
In many ways, Huggies Overnites resemble regular Huggies. Although they're ultra absorbent, they have the same stretchy, comfortable fit and are similarly emblazoned with characters from The Lion King, but the animals are snoozing and a moon is overhead. Z immediately made the connection and would ask me for "night-night diaper" at nap time as well as bedtime. Yeah, like I'm wasting the Hoover Dam on a backyard creek.
Net net, Huggies Overnites perform as promised, delivering maximum absorbency for the long haul at a slight cost premium. If you want to save the cash, buy your regular diapers one size up.
Find out what other parents had to say about Huggies Overnites and leave a comment for your chance to win a free package for your nighttime pee machine.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Oh no you didn't
Two young mothers boarded the El this morning with five children between them. The oldest kid was about 8, the youngest, 1. The boys were obviously excited and a little rambunctious, but I was completely unprepared for the way one mother reacted when her son stood up briefly. Her loud string of invectives was so vile, so profane and so shockingly hurtful, you could feel the whole train tense up. It involved four letter words up to and including the big F and promised a beating should the kid dare not obey.
The fifty-something woman in front of her turned around with a disapproving, "Now hush," which I think was more than appropriate, but I was left shaking. I suspected from the family members' ages and clothes--as well as the fact that they boarded the train on Chicago's West Side--that they were likely not well off, but living in poverty has got to pale in comparison to living with a hair-trigger temper like that. My heart goes out to those kids.
The fifty-something woman in front of her turned around with a disapproving, "Now hush," which I think was more than appropriate, but I was left shaking. I suspected from the family members' ages and clothes--as well as the fact that they boarded the train on Chicago's West Side--that they were likely not well off, but living in poverty has got to pale in comparison to living with a hair-trigger temper like that. My heart goes out to those kids.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
26 week belly
Flowers and plants aren't the only things growing at the Garfield Park Conservatory. Check out more photos from our Sunday morning adventure.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Can you hate a car seat?
Yesterday afternoon we unhooked our Evenflo Triumph convertible car seat for the last time. Read on to learn why I hated it so, and find out which car seat has replaced the bane of our existence--a car seat which, I may add, retails for $30 less.
First, I'll tell you why I bought it. It was one of Consumer Reports' top-rated convertible car seats at the time I was on the market--about two years ago. I knew Z wouldn't fit in her wonderful Graco SnugRide forever, and I wanted to shop around for a good price on a new car seat before she hit the SnugRide's height limit. I didn't want to blow $200+ on a Britax, but I felt my precious cargo was worth more than a bare-bones economy model. A few of my new mom friends (not experienced moms, I should point out) were also reading Consumer Reports, and one gal noticed that BabyAge was offering the Triumph on sale for $99 (it's regularly $119) and free shipping, we all pounced.
On paper, the Triumph seemed like a great choice. Good crash test ratings, plush fabric, lots of cushioning and various recline levels. What they didn't tell us was that every time the fabric got soiled, we'd have to get out the screwdriver and disassemble the car seat to clean it! That means sticky messes got babywiped clean and puke and poop explosions got Daddy pissed off. And since car sickness and road trips go together like gas stations and cherry deodorizers, we spent many a trip begging screw drivers off of hotel clerks.
With all of the mess that accompanies early childhood, that defect alone should be enough to condemn the Evenflo Triumph, but there's more: the straps are damn near impossible to adjust. And in shoulder seasons, when coats are on one day and off the next, I need to be able to make adjustments. I initially blamed my weak wrists, but Josh had the same problem.
And the straw that broke the camel's back? This car seat is a monster, weighing in at 19lbs. No biggie when it's strapped into the back seat, but huge pain to haul through airports, even when strapped to this.
But all that's history. Because we are now the very pleased owners of a brand-new $79 Graco ComfortSport. It's at least five pounds lighter, the straps are a breeze to adjust, and the cover slips right off for washing. It also seems like it took Josh a lot less time to configure. It's a tad narrower, so it takes up a little less room. And the cherry on top? It has a cup holder and snack tray, which Z thinks is tops.
First, I'll tell you why I bought it. It was one of Consumer Reports' top-rated convertible car seats at the time I was on the market--about two years ago. I knew Z wouldn't fit in her wonderful Graco SnugRide forever, and I wanted to shop around for a good price on a new car seat before she hit the SnugRide's height limit. I didn't want to blow $200+ on a Britax, but I felt my precious cargo was worth more than a bare-bones economy model. A few of my new mom friends (not experienced moms, I should point out) were also reading Consumer Reports, and one gal noticed that BabyAge was offering the Triumph on sale for $99 (it's regularly $119) and free shipping, we all pounced.
On paper, the Triumph seemed like a great choice. Good crash test ratings, plush fabric, lots of cushioning and various recline levels. What they didn't tell us was that every time the fabric got soiled, we'd have to get out the screwdriver and disassemble the car seat to clean it! That means sticky messes got babywiped clean and puke and poop explosions got Daddy pissed off. And since car sickness and road trips go together like gas stations and cherry deodorizers, we spent many a trip begging screw drivers off of hotel clerks.
With all of the mess that accompanies early childhood, that defect alone should be enough to condemn the Evenflo Triumph, but there's more: the straps are damn near impossible to adjust. And in shoulder seasons, when coats are on one day and off the next, I need to be able to make adjustments. I initially blamed my weak wrists, but Josh had the same problem.
And the straw that broke the camel's back? This car seat is a monster, weighing in at 19lbs. No biggie when it's strapped into the back seat, but huge pain to haul through airports, even when strapped to this.
But all that's history. Because we are now the very pleased owners of a brand-new $79 Graco ComfortSport. It's at least five pounds lighter, the straps are a breeze to adjust, and the cover slips right off for washing. It also seems like it took Josh a lot less time to configure. It's a tad narrower, so it takes up a little less room. And the cherry on top? It has a cup holder and snack tray, which Z thinks is tops.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Before I was Marketing Mommy
Well, I've been in marketing and promotions for much longer than I've been a mother, but I held down a whole lot of unrelated jobs before getting my current gig. In chronological order, here's my CV.
Babysitter (12 - 18 years old)
Cash money! The best gig of all was getting paid to keep an eye on the younger kids as I worked on my tan and ordered pizzas at the American Embassy pool in Pakistan.
Bus girl (13)
I cleared tables and made peanut buster parfaits at the No Name Cafe in Islamabad.
Sales girl (15)
I lasted one week at a creepy, bug-infested candy stand at the dilapidated 7 Corners Mall in Falls Church, VA. Turned me off of chocolate covered peanuts for a year.
Sales girl (16-17)
I sold pricey baby clothes and personalized kiddie furniture at boutique called Hoohobbers in the Pentagon City Mall. It seemed like every kid born in 1992 was named Ashley.
Cashier (17)
Nothing turns you off of deli sandwiches like working the register at Stuffin' Turkey, a food court favorite of the Army recruits who frequented Pentagon City. Every day some guy would answer my "Can I get you anything else?" with a "Yeah, your phone number." I was the only white employee aside from the manager, and I was also the only employee who never rotated onto sandwich making or refrigerator cleaning duty. I only worked the register. Coincidence?
Sales girl (17-18)
Back up to the second floor of the mall! I sold humorous tee shirts and jeans at Aussie & Co. and ended up dating one of my co-workers. My manager was a petite curly-haired 20-something from the Boston area, and I was completely in awe of her.
Office Assistant (18)
I learned to file under the patient tutelage of a woman with hair down to her butt in a freezing cold office squirreled away in the SSA building at the University of Chicago.
Camp Counselor (19)
I gained 25 pounds in 10 weeks and got yelled at by really rich New York parents at a terribly-run private Jewish camp in Maine. For a measly $900. My favorite memory: Being told by one mother that her fourth grader wouldn't be doing bathroom chore rotation because she didn't know what kind of sexually transmitted diseases "you counselors brought in from who knows where." And the mosquitoes were fierce.
Office Temp (20)
I worked in a bunch of different downtown offices, answering phones and doing data entry. This was before every office had internet, so I was usually bored out of my mind. And sometimes I had to wear hose.
Public Relations Intern (20)
I don't have many memories of my time with Performance Chicago. I just remember really primitive copy machines and computers and a fax machine that still used that horrible roll paper. I got to see some cool shows for free, though.
Bank Teller (20-21)
I was a special services teller at the very old-school Hyde Park Bank, which means someone trusted me to hang onto the $15,000 in my drawer. I wired money, issued money orders and took large cash deposits from local drug dealers. I also remember processing a deposit from dinosaur expert Paul Serrano. Both of my co-workers--single moms in their 30s-- had been with the bank for seven or eight years, and they seemed to spend a large portion of their $9/hour wage on elaborate manicures. They lived with their mothers.
Assistant to the Publishers/Marketing Coordinator (21-24)
This is where my career really began. I had way more responsibility than any 21 year old should as I did a little bit of everything at a local alt newsweekly. I did accounts payable, helped figure out where to put the ads, recruited, trained and covered for receptionists, and planned parties, movie screenings and other promotions for the paper. I even got to plan an author roundtable for the Printers Row Book Fair.
I decided I liked the creative side of promotions and marketing better than the schmoozing/financial side, so I decided to become a copywriter. I put together my portfolio and two weeks later I was hired at my current agency. That was almost seven years ago.
What random/horrible/unusual jobs have you held?
Babysitter (12 - 18 years old)
Cash money! The best gig of all was getting paid to keep an eye on the younger kids as I worked on my tan and ordered pizzas at the American Embassy pool in Pakistan.
Bus girl (13)
I cleared tables and made peanut buster parfaits at the No Name Cafe in Islamabad.
Sales girl (15)
I lasted one week at a creepy, bug-infested candy stand at the dilapidated 7 Corners Mall in Falls Church, VA. Turned me off of chocolate covered peanuts for a year.
Sales girl (16-17)
I sold pricey baby clothes and personalized kiddie furniture at boutique called Hoohobbers in the Pentagon City Mall. It seemed like every kid born in 1992 was named Ashley.
Cashier (17)
Nothing turns you off of deli sandwiches like working the register at Stuffin' Turkey, a food court favorite of the Army recruits who frequented Pentagon City. Every day some guy would answer my "Can I get you anything else?" with a "Yeah, your phone number." I was the only white employee aside from the manager, and I was also the only employee who never rotated onto sandwich making or refrigerator cleaning duty. I only worked the register. Coincidence?
Sales girl (17-18)
Back up to the second floor of the mall! I sold humorous tee shirts and jeans at Aussie & Co. and ended up dating one of my co-workers. My manager was a petite curly-haired 20-something from the Boston area, and I was completely in awe of her.
Office Assistant (18)
I learned to file under the patient tutelage of a woman with hair down to her butt in a freezing cold office squirreled away in the SSA building at the University of Chicago.
Camp Counselor (19)
I gained 25 pounds in 10 weeks and got yelled at by really rich New York parents at a terribly-run private Jewish camp in Maine. For a measly $900. My favorite memory: Being told by one mother that her fourth grader wouldn't be doing bathroom chore rotation because she didn't know what kind of sexually transmitted diseases "you counselors brought in from who knows where." And the mosquitoes were fierce.
Office Temp (20)
I worked in a bunch of different downtown offices, answering phones and doing data entry. This was before every office had internet, so I was usually bored out of my mind. And sometimes I had to wear hose.
Public Relations Intern (20)
I don't have many memories of my time with Performance Chicago. I just remember really primitive copy machines and computers and a fax machine that still used that horrible roll paper. I got to see some cool shows for free, though.
Bank Teller (20-21)
I was a special services teller at the very old-school Hyde Park Bank, which means someone trusted me to hang onto the $15,000 in my drawer. I wired money, issued money orders and took large cash deposits from local drug dealers. I also remember processing a deposit from dinosaur expert Paul Serrano. Both of my co-workers--single moms in their 30s-- had been with the bank for seven or eight years, and they seemed to spend a large portion of their $9/hour wage on elaborate manicures. They lived with their mothers.
Assistant to the Publishers/Marketing Coordinator (21-24)
This is where my career really began. I had way more responsibility than any 21 year old should as I did a little bit of everything at a local alt newsweekly. I did accounts payable, helped figure out where to put the ads, recruited, trained and covered for receptionists, and planned parties, movie screenings and other promotions for the paper. I even got to plan an author roundtable for the Printers Row Book Fair.
I decided I liked the creative side of promotions and marketing better than the schmoozing/financial side, so I decided to become a copywriter. I put together my portfolio and two weeks later I was hired at my current agency. That was almost seven years ago.
What random/horrible/unusual jobs have you held?
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Zima wants to Mom my Ride
The alco-pop of my youth wants to reconnect with me. Pretty funny viral video, actually. And sent to me by a recovering minivan mom. Thanks Nancy!
Exploring Maya's Mom
So I'd heard some good things about the Maya's Mom online community, and I joined a couple of days ago. With work and Z being sick, I haven't had to much time to explore my new surroundings, but it looks like a great site--kind of a MySpace for moms that brings together the best of message boards (way less overwhelming that those on BabyCenter) and blogging (you can browse new journal entries). Plus, you can make friends and join interest groups. And just like MySpace, there seem to be a few friend-collectors out there--I got a friend request before I'd even finished setting up my profile!
If you're a member of Maya's Mom, let me know or look me up and link me up. There, like here, I'm Marketing Mommy.
If you're a member of Maya's Mom, let me know or look me up and link me up. There, like here, I'm Marketing Mommy.
Bye-bye rotavirus
From my phone conversation with Josh around 5:15pm yesterday, I was pretty sure I'd be home taking care of a sick kid today. She was crying for Mama nonstop and refusing all food and drink, and it was clear my husband was at the end of his rope. But from the moment they met me at the train station, Z was her happy-go-lucky regular self.
We got home and she decided she'd like some orange juice, which she sipped as we played Cariboo, her very first game. After playtime, she willingly undressed herself and hopped into the bath. She even let me give her a shampoo, so I was able to finally remove the lingering scent of barf from her hair.
We returned to our night-night routine, putting on clean jammies, brushing teeth, reading library books on the rocking chair and cuddling for a few minutes in the dark. When I brought her to her bed, she asked for song, which is also pretty typical. But in a new twist, I am no longer allowed to sing any familiar tunes. I have to make up a song based on her request. "Sing a song about Z and sippy cups," was last night's demand. So, to the tune of "Puff the Magic Dragon," I sang the tale of Z and her Magic Sippy Cup.
The girl slept all night and woke up with a plain old wet diaper, a healthy appetite and a very strong desire to go to Adriana's house (day care). I can't tell you how relieved I am to see her back to normal, and I've got my fingers crossed that she stays that way.
We got home and she decided she'd like some orange juice, which she sipped as we played Cariboo, her very first game. After playtime, she willingly undressed herself and hopped into the bath. She even let me give her a shampoo, so I was able to finally remove the lingering scent of barf from her hair.
We returned to our night-night routine, putting on clean jammies, brushing teeth, reading library books on the rocking chair and cuddling for a few minutes in the dark. When I brought her to her bed, she asked for song, which is also pretty typical. But in a new twist, I am no longer allowed to sing any familiar tunes. I have to make up a song based on her request. "Sing a song about Z and sippy cups," was last night's demand. So, to the tune of "Puff the Magic Dragon," I sang the tale of Z and her Magic Sippy Cup.
The girl slept all night and woke up with a plain old wet diaper, a healthy appetite and a very strong desire to go to Adriana's house (day care). I can't tell you how relieved I am to see her back to normal, and I've got my fingers crossed that she stays that way.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
A sick way to start your day
Z collapsed into bed around 6:30 last night and we didn't hear a peep all night. That was the good news. The bad news came at 5am when she began shouting, "Mama! Mama!" I went into her room and the smell of vomit hit me full in the face. Eyes watering, I turned on the light to see that my little angel had been sleeping in a puddle of puke. And she had a diaper full of diarrhea.
Am I scaring away my readership yet? If you've got a weak stomach, come back in a couple of days. I swear I'll start writing about something else soon.
I cleaned her up, wet combed her sick-smelling hair and deposited her in our bed so that I could tend to the bed linens and pajamas and start yet another load laundry.
I believe Z's first words to Josh were, "Don't touch my hair, Daddy. It has throw-up in it."
Am I scaring away my readership yet? If you've got a weak stomach, come back in a couple of days. I swear I'll start writing about something else soon.
I cleaned her up, wet combed her sick-smelling hair and deposited her in our bed so that I could tend to the bed linens and pajamas and start yet another load laundry.
I believe Z's first words to Josh were, "Don't touch my hair, Daddy. It has throw-up in it."
Monday, April 02, 2007
Recovery in progress
Last night was rough. Z had a temperature above 103 degrees, and she was so miserable she was reduced to a pitiful little whimper-cry. At least I was able to provide her with some comfort. About every hour or so. All night long.
Josh took the morning shift of watching DVDs on the couch with our little hot potato, and I made it home around 2pm to take over. By late afternoon, Z was able to hold her head up and keep liquids and a few bites of food down. She still has pretty loud, frequent and frightening diarrhea, but I think we're over the hump. Her fever is way down and she's taking an interest in the world outside. We even ventured onto the back porch to watch the neighbor kids run around.
I'm sad we missed out on having a Passover seder with our friends Julie and Steve and their kids, but we had a nice traditional meal while Z watched Alice in Wonderland for the second or third time today.
Tonight I'm going to go to bed early to make up for last night's fitful rest. I guess women who space their children really closely are pregnant before their first is sleeping through the night, but I'm not cut out for it.
Josh took the morning shift of watching DVDs on the couch with our little hot potato, and I made it home around 2pm to take over. By late afternoon, Z was able to hold her head up and keep liquids and a few bites of food down. She still has pretty loud, frequent and frightening diarrhea, but I think we're over the hump. Her fever is way down and she's taking an interest in the world outside. We even ventured onto the back porch to watch the neighbor kids run around.
I'm sad we missed out on having a Passover seder with our friends Julie and Steve and their kids, but we had a nice traditional meal while Z watched Alice in Wonderland for the second or third time today.
Tonight I'm going to go to bed early to make up for last night's fitful rest. I guess women who space their children really closely are pregnant before their first is sleeping through the night, but I'm not cut out for it.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Things fall apart
Yeah, it looks like the rotavirus has made itself at home in our house.
Z woke up feverish, listless and thirsty, and she threw up the apple juice-Pedialyte cocktail I prepared for her shortly after we made it downstairs. But in a big improvement over yesterday, she barfed in the plastic basin I'd given her and not all over the couch.
As the morning went on and Cinderella turned into Calliou, vomit made way for diarrhea, which has been plaguing her all morning, but she has been able to keep down successive doses of the Pedialyte cocktail as well as some Infant Tylenol lemonade I mixed up. That and two bites of a bagel and maybe six squares of Life cereal. The kid is pitiful. She can barely stand up, and if I put her down for a moment, she sinks down on the floor. She whimpered through my 10 minute shower in spite of Josh's efforts to soothe her. I guess when you're that sick, only Mama will do. Mama and a stack familiar DVDs.
Unpleasant but manageable, right? Wrong. While I was tending to the nasty liquids spewing forth from our daughter, Josh was stuck dealing with our vomiting kitchen sink. I don't know exactly what's wrong, but it's involved lots of plunging, a little cursing and virtually all of the pipes removed from under the sink. Hopefully the friendly folks at Ace Hardware--together with some advice from our friend Eric--will keep us from having to call a plumber tomorrow.
If we're out a functioning sink, we may need to downgrade our Passover seder plans yet again. I already backed out of my friend Julie's seder on account of this virus, but if the sink isn't working, I'm not sure we'll be able to cook anything!
At least our washing machine is still going strong...
Z woke up feverish, listless and thirsty, and she threw up the apple juice-Pedialyte cocktail I prepared for her shortly after we made it downstairs. But in a big improvement over yesterday, she barfed in the plastic basin I'd given her and not all over the couch.
As the morning went on and Cinderella turned into Calliou, vomit made way for diarrhea, which has been plaguing her all morning, but she has been able to keep down successive doses of the Pedialyte cocktail as well as some Infant Tylenol lemonade I mixed up. That and two bites of a bagel and maybe six squares of Life cereal. The kid is pitiful. She can barely stand up, and if I put her down for a moment, she sinks down on the floor. She whimpered through my 10 minute shower in spite of Josh's efforts to soothe her. I guess when you're that sick, only Mama will do. Mama and a stack familiar DVDs.
Unpleasant but manageable, right? Wrong. While I was tending to the nasty liquids spewing forth from our daughter, Josh was stuck dealing with our vomiting kitchen sink. I don't know exactly what's wrong, but it's involved lots of plunging, a little cursing and virtually all of the pipes removed from under the sink. Hopefully the friendly folks at Ace Hardware--together with some advice from our friend Eric--will keep us from having to call a plumber tomorrow.
If we're out a functioning sink, we may need to downgrade our Passover seder plans yet again. I already backed out of my friend Julie's seder on account of this virus, but if the sink isn't working, I'm not sure we'll be able to cook anything!
At least our washing machine is still going strong...
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