Sayonara sippy cups

Confession: Z's nearly three and--until earlier this week--we let her drink from sippy cups. Milk, water, even juice (typically watered down, but not always).

She's too big. It's bad for her teeth. And she's gotten spoiled, expecting a beverage in the car, in the stroller and with her on the couch as she watches The Wiggles.

So I told her we'd be saying bye-bye to sippy cups by her third birthday. And you know what? She didn't even bat an eye. Two days later and she's drinking juice and milk at the table, with meals. And if she's thirsty at night or when we're out and about, she's got her brand-new, BPA-free SIGG water bottle.

On a related note, Z decided she's night-trained. She didn't care for the Target-brand training pants I'd purchased (no Princesses), so she told me she'd wear underwear instead. No biggie.

The world's smallest pumping mama

Hey Fisher-Price, how about a My Little Breastpump? Z demanded I craft her one so that she could pump milk and feed her doll, just like mommy. It's amazing what you can do with construction paper, tape and a cigar box.

Book review: Kids are Americans Too

Remember that obnoxious know-it-all boy from the 8th grade? The one who panted "ooh-ooh-me" as he raised his hand and parroted his right-wing father's views during Social Studies discussions?

Fox News blowhard Bill O'Reilly wrote a book for just for him. If you can call it writing. Kids are Americans Too purports to be a guide to legal rights for kids, but it's really a smarmy overview of the legal process dumbed down with horrible raps (yes, raps), smug multiple choice quizzes and mock Q and A's between the kid reader and O'Reilly himself.

You might think that a book about rights would at least pretend to come from a "no-spin zone," but O'Reilly dismisses any opinion that doesn't line up with his worldview as idiotic or stupid. Every chapter includes a dig at the ACLU. Ironic, given they're all about guaranteeing our civil liberties (aka our rights).

Now here's where I try to give Bill O'Reilly the benefit of the doubt. He does emphasize, again and again, that the best way to get what you want is to negotiate calmly and use tact. Tact, huh O'Reilly? Is that what you were using when you sexually harassed a Fox News producer? What O'Reilly doesn't recommend is taking your complaints to court. Which might explain why he agreed to settle that nasty little harassment suit.

I'm not the only member of the Parent Bloggers Network to review this book. Click here to see if anyone had anything nice to say.

Is there a word for this?

I need to describe a particular condition. You see, Baby A usually falls asleep with a paci in her mouth. At some point during the night (or nap), she spits out her pacifier. And by the time we go into her room to fetch her from her crib, the paci is in her ear.

So what shall I call this oral invasion of her aural space? A rubber willy? Paciphone? Bluetooth binkie?

Product review: Vincent Shoes

What, somebody besides Robeez makes baby shoes? Are they any good?

Thanks to the kind folks at Parent Bloggers Network, I got to find out for myself. I mean, for Baby A.

Now, let me preface this by saying that there really isn't any compelling reason to put shoes on a 3-month-old. She's not walking. She's not crawling. She's mostly wiggling on her back like an overturned stinkbug. But winter's a-coming and I'm all in favor of keeping her tiny socks on and her sweet tootsies warm with a pair of buttery soft leather slippers.

So I gave Vincent Shoes a try. A Swedish company, they've got a huge variety of Euro-stylish shoes for little ones--a lot more to choose from than Robeez, which are pretty standard pull-on kicks with themed decorations. I chose the formal black leather Mini Angela and the charming pink Mini Betty mary janes for my little girl. They recommend Prewalker Size 1 for two to five month olds and Prewalker Size 2 for four to eight month olds. Since Baby A's on the big side, I ordered the Angela in a 1 and the Betty in a 2. Turned out the 1 fit perfectly and the 2 is enormous. It fell right off.

Which is too bad, because I much prefer the soft, adorable Mini Betty to the too-fancy Mini Angela, which is too fussy and way too stiff for my taste. The patent leather trim interferes with the leather's softness and the shoe has a lot less give than the Mini Betty or the broken-in Robeez I'm using for comparison. Still, if I had an occasion appropriate for dressy baby shoes, I'd put her in them without hesitation.

I was a little disappointed to see that the shoes weren't actually made in Sweden. They're manufactured in China like everything else. But I feel like the quality is there. Vincent Shoes have the soft leather sole of a Robeez slipper, but unlike Robeez, they have a terry lining to help absorb moisture (baby feet seem to sweat a lot).

And since Vincent loves Mommybloggers and their readers, they're offering us an exclusive discount code and they're giving away two $50 gift certificates. First-time purchasers can enter code "OCT-20-OFF" for 20% anything in the shop through 11/11/07. To enter to win a $50 gift certificate, check out the Vincent Shoes website and leave a comment on the Vincent post at PBN with your favorite style and why (it does not need to be a prewalker).

The pumping puzzle: how much is my milk really worth?

Breastfeeding isn't just "best for baby," it gets me the most bang for my buck. Right? Well, yeah. But the cost savings aren't as dramatic as I'd hoped.

I'm returning to work in two weeks and planning to pump for at least a couple of months. I'm dedicated to nursing, but my breastpump doesn't engender the same warm fuzzy feelings as my baby, so I decided to calculate how much I'm saving by pumping versus supplementing while my child is in my husband's or daycare provider's care. I figured that putting a dollar amount to my efforts would solidify my commitment to pump. I could add up the savings and treat myself to a little shopping spree with the cash I'd saved by not buying formula. (And in case you're wondering, I'm not figuring in the cost of the pump since it already paid for itself with baby #1.)

So here goes. The first real math I'd done since high school calculus.

First, let's assume Baby A will drink three 4-ounce bottles while I am at work, for a total of 12 ounces of milk while I'm away. A 25.7oz (large) can of Enfamil or Similac formula costs $22.99 on sale at Walgreens. You can prepare 160 fluid ounces per can, and assuming none gets wasted, that works out to 13 days worth of daycare/daddy care supplementation. Which means I'm saving a grand total of $2.00 per workday by pumping. Yikes, I don't even earn a latte for my efforts!

Depressing, huh? It gets better. In my efforts to make sure Baby A accepts a bottle when I return to work, I've been pumping at home and saving the excess. I've got a freezer full of expressed milk in zipper bags--probably 250-300 ounces worth. I, like many moms in my position, like to refer to it as liquid gold, but it's probably only the nutritional equivalent of $40 worth of powdered formula.

Now I have saved a significant pile of money by breastfeeding Baby A exclusively for the first three months of her life: $400 by even the most conservative estimates. And that doesn't account for all of the breastmilk she's drunk, spit-up and demanded more of. That'll buy me a new winter coat and some cute cashmere cold weather accessories, but no luxury vacation.

Yet, while I'm only earning about $4 an hour for sitting in a windowless, featureless room with a mechanical milking machine hooked up to my boobs, I still feel a compulsion to keep it up, at least for a little while. Maybe I feel like I can't supplement my second kid more than I did my first. Maybe I'm doing it for the feeling of accomplishment I get from nourishing my children, even when I am away. Surely a big part of it is my desire to keep my supply up enough that I won't have to mix up and and warm up a bottle of formula in the middle of the night. (I'm lazy like that.)

But can I say I'm doing it to save money? Not so much, unfortunately.

Cross-posted to Chicago Moms Blog

Pumpkin picking at the Children's Farm

One of our three pumpkins has already been demolished by the neighborhood's very own squash-eating squirrel, but
he can't take away my memories! For the second year in a row, our playgroup families have headed down to Palos Park to pick pumpkins, pet farm animals and picnic at The Children's Farm.

Z didn't care much for the pumpkin patch this year. She didn't like the fact that all of the pumpkins were "dirty." But she loved frolicking with her friends and visiting the lifestock. And maybe it's just me, but I thought it was a little unsettling to see a poster depicting various cuts of beef right by the stall where the kids were brushing hogs and petting cows.

Plenty more photos are uploaded here.

My dance card is full

In the next 2 1/2 weeks before I return to work, I have the following penciled, penned and Sharpied onto my calendar:

• Pumpkin-picking in Palos Park with our entire playgroup and their families
  
• A visit from our old friend Beth B, who's in town for a wedding
  
• A visit from my cousin, who's in town to see The Decemberists
• A visit from my sister and her 5-month-old baby Eliza
  
• Z's preschool class Halloween party
• Z's preschool family Halloween party
• Our neighborhood Halloween block party
• Trick-or-treating on Halloween day
  
• Z's 3rd birthday party at home
  
• Z's birthday celebration at school
  
• Two birthday parties for other little kids
• "Observation" at Z's school (a Montessori version of the parent-teacher conference)
• Baby A's first day at daycare

Here's to hoping my job will be a little less chaotic than my maternity leave.

Book review: Printakid Personalized Children's Books

When Parent Bloggers offered me the opportunity to test drive Printakid's personalized books for children, I jumped at the chance. I knew my daughter would flip over a book starring her. After all, she's your typical two-going-on-three-year-old. A wee bit self-centered.

And since the world revolves around her, Z was as pleased as punch (but not entirely shocked) to find that she was the main character in Laughing All the Way to School. Not only that, her best friends were included in the cast of characters. As a new preschooler, she liked seeing herself and her buddies at school, but I'm not sure what she made of the schoolyard, hallway, teachers and public address system. Her Montessori preschool doesn't resemble the typical elementary school pictured in this story. Since I was able to specify Z's hairstyle, hair color, skin tone and eye color while ordering, hers was a pretty good likeness. However, she was a little confused to hear her friends' names without finding their pictures in the book.

And then there's the plot. Basically, "your child here" goes to school with her friends and all of the kids and teachers turn into animals. Funny enough if you're under five, I guess. And I'm sure the preschool set don't care much about the clunky prose and a terrible ending (it turns out laughter is the best medicine for best friends who've been turned into baboons). But this mom's still responsible for reading aloud, and it pains me to see such poor writing.

Printakid's personalized books will run you about $25 for a sturdy hardback, which seems like a decent deal for a keepsake-type gift. Just don't buy it for the offspring of an English major.

Three months old today

Happy birthday, Baby A!

I can't believe how far you've come in such a short period of time. You came home from the hospital an eight pound lump with powerful suck reflex and now you're a fully interactive baby.

You weigh over 12lbs and boast a double chin and rolls of thigh fat. Which is amazing given that you drench us both in hot, sour spit-up after every feeding. In spite of being a little barf baby, you have outgrown all your 0-3 month clothes.

Your eyes are pewter and your hair's a fuzzy brown. You start the morning with a wry half smile, but it only takes a few words to get you to give us a big gummy grin. We love your funny hehehe laugh, and watching you watch other children it is clear you're taking it all in (and looking forward to joining in).

You sleep like a champ, down for the count at 6:30pm and only waking up once (if at all) for a feed-burb-poo before reveille at 7am.

I went back to work with your big sister was three months old, so I'm treasuring these extra couple of weeks we'll spend together before I swap our constant togetherness for a breast pump and a paycheck.

Sometimes milestones suck

Like My Toddler's First Nightmare.

Yes, Josh and I were up for a couple hours between midnight and 2am tending to a hysterical but lucid toddler. Z told us "something was jumping on my bed," and after we turned down her one-hundredth request to sleep in our bed, we let her spend the rest of the night on her floor.

On top of that, I had a nasty case of food poisoning. Which meant I was alternating between comforting my daughter and racing for the bathroom.

We're much, much better today.

More sisterly love

My little girls hold hands in the back seat. I am saving this photo to show them when they start in with the, "You're touching me!" nonsense in a few years.

Big weekend

Z's largely dropped her afternoon nap, and we're wiping her out this weekend. Highlights have included the arrival of her Aunt Bethany, a three hour adventure at Kiddieland with friends from playgroup and preschool and the baptism of her best friend Lia and Baby A's future buddy Abby, which was followed by a party.

Click here to see more photos.

Across the Universe

I saw a movie last night. In the theatre! Full of teenagers!

I'm not exactly sure how to describe the Beatles musical/sixties art retrospective/love story that is Across the Universe, but I really loved watching it. The story's a little hackneyed and the film is about 20 minutes too long, but the songs are great, the choreography is cool and the art direction is mind-blowing.

Seriously, I feel like it stoked my creativity. A good thing, as I'm going back to work November 6th.

Calling all princesses

A bit of background: Z's refused to use real toothpaste (the stuff with fluoride) and we've been letting her get away with it, brushing her teeth as throughly as possible with baby tooth and gum cleanser. But today the game was up. We were all out of baby toothpaste.

When I broke the news to Z, she broke down crying. In a flash, I told her that if she brushed with "big kid" toothpaste, I'd let her call Belle and tell her. She opened her mouth a millimeter and let me brush, whimpering the whole while.

She rinsed and spit. Rinsed and spit. Then, wiping her eyes, she said, "I wanna call Belle. But not the Beast."

"Josh," I hollered, "Guess who used big kid toothpaste? And she'd like to call Belle from Beauty and the Beast and tell her all about it!" Wink wink, honey, wink wink.

Well, he sort of got the hint. My husband brings up the phone and says Belle will be calling in a minute. I see Josh's cell number pop up on the caller ID. We answer and my husband does the world's worst Belle impersonation.

"That's not Belle, that's Daddy!"

"Um, you're right! I told Daddy to call a real princess, not pretend to be a princess. Daddy, we know that's you. Now get the real Belle on the phone. Maybe G-l-o-r-i-a or S-t-a-c-i-e could help you out!"

This time he gets the hint. Moments later the phone rings again. Stacie's number appears on the caller ID. I hit speakerphone.

"Is this Z? I heard you brushed your teeth with big girl toothpaste tonight," purrs my friend, "I'm so proud of you."

Z's eyes are like saucers, her face breaks into a huge grin. She can't get a word out for a few minutes, but she finally whispers to me, "Can Belle sing me a song?" She does my friend a favor and requests "Twinkle Twinkle." A softball.

When the song and the call are complete, Z is enthused. She wants to know if she can talk to Cinderella tomorrow after she brushes her teeth. But not the Stepmother. And then maybe Princess Jasmine when she brushes her teeth again? And maybe Cinderella could come over to her house? And the Prince too? Or could she go visit her? And Mommy, do we have to take a plane to get to Cinderella's castle?

Cross-posted to Chicago Moms Blog

Look who's holding her head up!

I love my Hug-a-Bub even more now that Baby A can face forward and see the world.

How many to invite?

If only she's been born in the summer, this would be so much easier. But I can't plan a backyard birthday party for a girl born in November. Not in Chicago, anyway. So I've spent some time over the past couple of weeks racking my brain, trying to decide how to celebrate Z's third birthday. I considered My Gym. Too expensive. Wonder Works? Don't much care for the place. Then there's the Brown Cow, our favorite ice cream parlor and site of my baby shower three years earlier. I seriously entertained that idea, but became worried that with all of the attending parents, the ice cream costs might get out of control.

More importantly, I believe in simple birthday parties. Birthday parties at home. So, in an attempt to marry my beliefs and save my sanity, I've decided to throw a breakfast birthday party. I figure kids are at their best in the morning (particularly kids like Z who have dropped their afternoon naps), breakfast foods are easy to make and popular with children and I can get everyone out of my house before noon! So we'll invite her friends to come in the jammies, top their own pancakes, make Froot Loop necklaces and decorate pillowcases to take home. They can even pile onto the floor in the living room and watch a cartoon.

Sounds like a plan, right? Well here's where things get complicated. You see, we already have a pretty full house inviting seven of Z's long-time buddies, none of whom attend her preschool. We're starting to hear about her school friends, and I've met a few of their parents, but if we invite some of her preschool classmates, where do I draw the line? Can I just pick one or two? Should I leave them out altogether? She's named about 10 kids she likes, but I don't know how close friends she is with any of them. After all, she's been in school for less than a month!

Oh, and did I mention our house size? It's small.

Cross-posted to the Chicago Moms Blog

Cookbook review: Deceptively Delicious

What would you say if I told you I threw a can of chickpeas in the chocolate chip cookie dough? Would you gag if you knew the pizza sauce contained pureed spinach? That the burgers contained whole wheat bread crumbs, carrots and skim milk? Or that rich, warm chocolate pudding was made with a mashed avocado?

There's a reason celebrity wife Jessica Seinfeld is calling her cooking-for-kids book Deceptively Delicious. Folks--particular little ones--don't want to know the familiar food they're enjoying contains vegetables. "Icky" vitamin and fiber-dense vegetables like squash, sweet potatoes, carrots and beets.

You see, Ms. Seinfeld had an epiphany. She realized she could stir a little baby food into her older children's meal, and they wouldn't notice.

Bingo! Book idea. Contact a nutritionist to figure out which vegetables pack the biggest nutritional punch. Hire a chef to develop recipes that incorporate said purees. And get a kick-ass publicist to book you on Oprah.

Of course, being the spouse of the country's most successful comedian might have opened a few doors for Jessica, but she's delivered a cookbook that's the answer to many a mom's prayers. Kid-friendly food that's not junk in a cookbook that's as lovely as Jessica herself. The art direction reminds me of the classic Betty Crocker's Picture Cookbook.

So, how do the recipes taste? Well, fresh out of the oven, no one could detect the presence of chickpeas in my chocolate chip cookies. They received an enthusiastic thumbs-up from my husband, my daughter, and five elementary school boys from the neighborhood. But once I'd stored them, they quickly turned overly moist--wet even. I had to warm them up (and dry them out) in the toaster oven before trying to eat them. The chocolate pudding with avocado was dark, rich and reasonably tasty, but far too greasy. Z took three bites and walked away from the bowl, something she's never done to anything chocolate before.

Neither Z nor my husband could detect the summer squash in the Blueberry Lemon Muffins or the spinach in the pizza, although I'll admit I just stirred some of Jessica's spinach puree into a jar of Trader Joe's pizza sauce. Josh and I both loved her Meatball Soup (it got mixed reviews from Z and another toddler) and everyone enjoyed the hamburgers, which tasted like a cross between a juicy bad-for-you burger and a veggie burger.

Rather than follow her recipe for pancakes, which calls for pancake mix, I made waffles from scratch and stirred in the suggested sweet potato puree. They were delicious and no one was the wiser.

There are a lot of other tasty-looking recipes, but because my using this cookbook sets off my husband's alarm bells (What weird vegetable are you trying to hide in there?), I may end up taking inspiration from Deceptively Delicious and stir purees into our family's favorite recipes.
Either way, we're all getting a little more goodness with every bite of our favorite foods. My freezer's already stocked with Ziploc baggies full of pre-measured purees.

Now if I could only remember to take Baby A out of the Hug-a-Bub before I turn on that blasted Cuisinart... It startles her every time!

See what other Parent Bloggers have to say about Jessica Seinfeld's Deceptively Delicious cookbook.

Got $10,000 for a Mom-job?

According to the NY Times, MILFs are signing up to lose those droopy boobs and post-partum pudding with cosmetic surgery specially marketed to moms. I'm sure those women who've had the work done feel beautiful and empowered, but the pressure to be a hot mom makes me feel inadequate.

The American Dairy Association loves mommybloggers

On Wednesday night, the folks behind dairy's 3-A-Day campaign romanced me and about dozen other mommybloggers with drinks, dinner and dairy swag.

Make that dinners. The American Dairy Council's 3-A-Day event for mommybloggers was held Wednesday night at Super Suppers in Northbrook, one of those dinner assembly joints where you can throw together a "real meal" with pre-chopped ingredients and store it in your freezer for future enjoyment.

We sipped wine, nibbled on cheese slices and sampled some cucumber-yogurt dip with veggies. I got to reconnect with some of my fellow Chicago Moms Blog contributors, women I hadn't seen since BlogHer.

Then we assembled our "dairy-friendly" dinners. Six healthy entrees made slightly less healthy as the friendly Super Suppers foodies encouraged us to "go ahead and double the sour cream" or "throw a little more cheese on there!"

I actually walked out with 11 nights' worth of dinners since I was able to split all but one of the meals into half portions (three servings instead of six). I'm most looking forward to trying the Meatless (Spinach) Lasagna and Pan-Fried Ravioli with Tomato Cream Sauce. I couldn't bear the idea of warming up all of the tomato-cream sauce ingredients together, so I convinced the Super Suppers guys to let me individually bag the diced onion and red wine so I could saute the onions and create a red wine reduction before adding the tomatoes, seasonings and sour cream.

Thank you American Dairy Association for making us mommybloggers feel so special. We love you (and your adorable milk glasses), too!

Please hold, your money is very important to us

I’ve spent far too much time on the phone this week, dealing with incompetent people and clearing up screw-ups. In addition to dealing with the morons at the Professional Eye Center, I called the Social Security Administration to find out why we haven’t received Baby A’s card yet. Even though I’d filled out an application for her number while still in the hospital, the SSA had no record of her existence and Wednesday we trooped over to Hillside to apply in person.

And then there was the two hours I spent on the phone with the billing department for the hospital where I gave birth and my insurance company. Since today is Health Care Issues day on the Chicago Moms Blog (and our sister sites the DC Area Moms Blog and Silicon Valley Moms Blog), I wrote about how dealing with billing department and insurance company nonsense makes me long for universal, single-payer health care.

My little creationist

Z and I do quite a bit of talking during the 3/4 mile stroller ride to preschool. She picks the topics. Today she said "God made the world, right Mommy?"

"Right." Hey, I'm not about to try to explain the Big Bang theory to a two-year-old.

"Did God make words?"

"Words, like talking words?"

"Yes."

"Well, God made people and people talk words, so I suppose He helped."

"Does God make houses?"

"No, people build houses. But God made the materials like wood, stone and sand."

"And little children can help build houses, right mommy?"

"No, grown-ups build houses."

"But little children can build Little People houses!"

"You're right about that."

Guess who's been watching the Jungle Book?

Said Z as she leaned back to examine the contents of the potty:

"I made a mama and two man-cubs!"

Professional Eye Center: Not very professional

In this age of 1-800-Contacts, can you imagine waiting a month and a half for a couple of boxes of contact lenses?

I went to the Oak Park office of the Professional Eye Center for an eye exam and contact lenses fitting in mid-August. I chose them because they're a member of the VSP network (my vision insurance) and I'd had a good experience with their optometrist in the past. My exam--aside from the breastfeeding comment--was uneventful and I placed my order for 6 months' worth of contact lenses. Since the enhanced vision insurance I bought through work covers the cost of eyeglasses or contacts up to a certain dollar amount, my exam and order only totaled about $30 out of pocket. I was told my order would take about two weeks.

After wearing through my trial pair and an extra set of lenses I had lying around the house, I started to get antsy. A month had gone by! I called the office and was told my lenses weren't in yet, but it would probably come in the following week. I could stop by to pick up another pair of trial lenses.

Fast forward two more weeks and I still hadn't heard from The Professional Eye Center. When I called back today they told me they didn't know why my order hadn't come in, and they didn't know when it would. But I could stop by and pick up another pair of trials.

Compare this to the customer service at For Eyes, which is just down the street from TPEC. I bought my glasses from them a few years ago and I stop in about once a year to have them adjusted so they don't fall off my face. Every time I appear, the friendly staff help me immediately and don't charge me a penny. It's a shame they're not in my vision care network, but I'm guessing they don't need the extra business.

A future Sarah Silverman?

Said my almost-three-year-old daughter today:

"Mommy, do you smell something? What does it smell like? Does it smell like toots?"
[Big smile]

"Z, did you just toot?"

"Yes I did!"

No taste for wine

We had our daughters' shared Brit Bat yesterday afternoon. At one point in the ceremony, we touched a drop of kosher wine to Baby A's lips.

Z wouldn't even let us come near her with the Kiddush cup. I guess that's what you get for putting off a Hebrew baby naming for almost three years!

Still, it was a wonderful event and we were thrilled to share it with our parents and friends.

Sweet dreams are made of these

"Mommy, I can't sleep."

With tonight's premiere of The Office starting (yeah, we don't have Tivo), I wasn't in the mood to make a lot of repeat trips up the stairs to help Z fall asleep. So, in a moment of sheer inspiration, I told her I'd find some special magic to help her sleep. Without a plan, I opened the hall closet. I figured I'd find some baby powder I could call sleep sprinkles, but it wasn't there. I grabbed a never-used bath pouf and carried it into her room.

"This is a very special, very magical sleeping cloud. I'll touch your back with it and you'll fall right asleep."

"A sleeping cloud? Can I hold it? I want to keep it."

She cuddled the bath pouf to her cheek and shut her eyes. I ran out of her room, barely able to keep my giggles quiet. It took me a couple of minutes to explain to Josh what I'd done, I was laughing so hard.

We haven't heard a peep since.

The perks and perils of outsourcing

Last Saturday I hosted a Yom Kippur Break Fast for about 20 people, and this Saturday I'll be having 30 guests over as we give our daughters their Hebrew names in a shared Brit Bat ceremony. As part of my ongoing and largely unsuccessful effort to do a little less (this maternity leave has been jam-packed with activity), I decided I'm not going to cook or bake. With my mom, my in-laws and my best friend in town for the event, the last thing I need is more shopping, coordination of cook times and dishes to do.

So I called our local Cosi and ordered a mess of sandwiches, chips, salad and cookies for delivery around noon on Saturday. Imagine my surprise when they showed up today with the food delivery. Fortunately they acknowledged the error was theirs and promised they would still come as promised on Saturday.

With the cooking taken care of and my house cleaner scheduled to come on Thursday, all I needed to do was buy a bottle of Manischewitz. Right? Wrong. Isabel called to say she can't come this week, which means Josh and I are on deck to give the place a top-to-bottom scouring before folks start arriving on Friday.

The unpretty preschool drop-off

In general Z's been doing great at preschool, picking flowers to bring to her teacher and telling us about the "work" she's been doing. But things deteriorated at this morning's drop-off.

Instead of merrily skipping into the classroom, she clung pitifully to my legs. It was hot and humid both inside and outside of the building, so I waited for the rest of the children to enter the classroom as the baby in my arms heated up my upper half and the toddler around my middle warmed and immobilized my lower half. I could feel my hair frizz and visualize the damp circles forming under my arms. It was like being in the world's most unpleasant body wrap, except I wasn't just sweating out toxins. I was wearing them, too. My otherwise adorable gray capris sported a generously-sized smear of baby poop on the right pocket. Yeah, I was a real class act.

Cross-posted to the Chicago Moms Blog

Stroller review: Phil and Teds Sport Double

My reviews have gotten more mixed as time goes on. Don't forget to read the updates at the bottom of this post!

Before Baby A arrived I daydreamed about owning the New Zealand-made Phil and Teds Sport Buggy. Unlike most double strollers, this one is a single stroller that can be adapted to fit two children. You've probably seen it around town in this arrangement--the set-up for two kids over the age of 6 months.


It looks pretty cool and it's got an amazingly small footprint for a double stroller--really no bigger than any single jogging stroller I've seen. But since Baby A still lacks the head control necessary for an upright position, we're using the Phil and Teds set-up for a toddler and a newborn, which has the added benefit of keeping the newborn completely hidden away underneath the toddler's seat. She's away from the sun, wind and curious kids at the park.




Baby A seems really comfy and cozy down below, and I frequently glance down to see her looking straight up at me from her gently swinging bassinet. I've also taken her for strolls without Z's toddler seat on, and while the sunshade doesn't provide a ton of protection, with the addition of a blanket we're set for our long morning walks.


So what do I love about my $400+ purchase?

• Steers like a dream (allowing for one-handed pushing while holding a cup of coffee or a cell phone)
  
• Handles curbs, bumpy sidewalks, gravel and grass with aplomb
• Folds down small without requiring one to remove the extra seat
• Comes in fetching, eye-catching colors
• Comfortable for the parent as well as small children
  
• Handlebar is adjustable for adults of different heights

What don't I love?

• The brake is difficult to set and almost impossible to release using just your foot
• Placing your infant under the toddler seat and strapping her in feels awkward at first
• The stroller does not come with a parent organizer, cup holders or a snack tray. I purchased this handlebar organizer from carryyou.com.
• The stowage basket is difficult to reach with the seat completely reclined, as it must be for a newborn
  
• Because it doesn't accommodate a car seat adapter, we've opted to use a hand-me-down Graco DuoGlider for car trips to the library or museum. Pushing it is a chore, but even new it is a decent stroller for the price

Update 11/6/07: We switched to the "two toddler" positioning when our second child turned 3 months old. I noticed that placing the double seat on the back was very difficult and it didn't click in all the way. I called the US distributor for the company and they told me they knew of some problems with the frame. They promptly shipped out a new frame at no cost to us. But reassembling the stroller on the new frame was no cakewalk. It took my husband 3 full hours and a long chat with customer service to put it together. Getting the double seat off is still very tricky--and you need to take it off to fold the stroller flat.

Update 9/28/08: My frustration with this stroller has been mounting since May. The top (main) seat has folded in on itself so that instead of a flat sitting area, it looks more like an open book. I called the distributor in June, but because my one year warranty had passed, they would only offer to sell me a new seat for $90.

Where the dragon sleeps tonight

"Mommy..." I hear my daughter call downstairs for the third time since I put her to bed.

"Mommy, I'm going to let my baby sister A borrow my dragon."

"Um, okay. But don't go in her room. She's sleeping. Leave the dragon outside her door."

"But I want to put it in her crib." I hear A's door creak. A vision of my tiny baby getting bonked in the face with an oversized, not-particularly-soft stuffed animal flashes before my eyes.

"No, sweetie. She's too little for toys in her crib."

"Can I put it on the chair?"

"No. Leave it outside of her door."

"Okay, Mommy. Mommy? I'm going to let A keep my dragon. She can keep it."

I head upstairs to check on the dragon's location. It is sitting outside the nursery. "That was very sweet of you to give A your dragon." I tuck her in, again.

"Now go to sleep."

Seems like a lovely end to a post, right? Well, while I was blogging I got interrupted again. And again. And again.

"Mommy, I have to go potty." This was followed by my heading upstairs to wipe a truly toxic-smelling poop off her butt as it dangled precariously low in the toilet.

"Mommy, who put sunblock in my room? I'm going to put it away."

"Sockies. Sockies. I need sockies to go to bed."

Now she's crying. I'm giving up on this post and heading upstairs permanently.

Gridlock vs. Hell on the El

Not only is our transit system broken, our roads have gone from bad to worse. Check out my rant (and artsy photo) at the Chicago Moms Blog.

Now it's Daddy's turn

Today is Testosterone Day on the Chicago Moms Blog, an opportunity for the men in our lives to have a say. Check out Josh's contribution.

Moments like this

They say having a second child more than doubles the work, and I think there's a lot of truth to that. Now two-months-old, A is an angel baby, sleeping through the night (mostly) and hardly ever crying. Yet we're exhausted, short-tempered and not nearly as nice to each other as we should be.

So when I'm fed up with bedtime battles, sour spit-up down my cleavage, endless laundry, dinner dishes and a husband who's short on sweet words himself, I focus on this. Those fleeting moments of sisterly love that make me feel like our family of four is perfectly complete.

Her first day of preschool

"Noooo! I don't want to go to school today," Z cried this morning, "I want to go back to bed and sleep."

Who are you and what did you do with my daughter, I asked myself. Is this the same kid who has been talking about starting preschool since April? The one who responded to her daycare provider saying "I'll miss you," with "I won't miss you. I'll make new friends at school." The girl who's never slept in ... ever?

I started to doubt our decision to send our not quite 3-year-old to a Montessori preschool. A traditional, old-school Montessori where she's be doing "work" and going to the potty without grown-up assistance (I'm dreading the inevitable skid marks).

But since Z loves hearing stories, I decided to tell her about my first day at preschool. I have no recollection of it whatsoever, but I improvised. I told her about how scared I was at first, but how the nice teachers and new friends made preschool a lot of fun.

"Tell me again."

We were on a roll. Z got out of bed and headed downstairs where she ate a good-by-her-meager-standards breakfast. She watched an episode or two of Caillou (curse PBS for canceling it and forcing us to watch it on DVD) and got dressed without complaint.

We walked to her new school as a family and dropped her off without fanfare, as requested by the teacher. I picked her up an hour and a half later and she was ecstatic, jumping up and down with excitement. I didn't get much information from the teacher, but I gathered that she'd spent her phase-in morning working with an older girl on some "numbers blocks" and had cereal for a snack.

She seems to be looking forward to returning tomorrow.

Birthday wishes

Z knows that her birthday is approaching and that she will be "free" (said as she holds up three fingers). She's also started telling me things she would like to get as birthday presents. Random stuff, like...
Strawberry shampoo
Strawberry underpants
Another bear-bear, maybe a blue one
Dora sheets for her bed
A Dora cake
An Alice in Wonderland book

And my favorite, "shavers," like Daddy's!

She's also very sure she wants to be a princess for Halloween. "Because I love princesses!"

Ugh.

Shout out to Mr. Mom

You don't hear a lot about what happens when the woman who brings home the bacon stays home to fry it up. About how her work-at-home husband has to deal with her burning said bacon and setting off the smoke alarm.

Because that's kind of what's been going on at the House of Klein. I've stepped out of my agency life for a few months of breast-feeding, midweek playdates and household chores. I've picked up many of the tasks that I'd handed off to my man over the past couple of years, and while I can still grocery shop, sort the laundry and load the dishwasher with the best of them, I don't do it his way. The man has systems.

So while I'm not going to learn all his tips and tricks before I have to return to the working world, I'm tipping my hat to the guy I married. The man who will take back the diaper bag and take over preschool drop-offs and daycare pick-ups. Who will be warming bottles and scheduling playdates. Making dinner and texting me "WHEN WILL U B HOME?" "STATUS?" "SOMEONE NEEDS MOMMY."

Cough, sneeze, wheeze and cry

Welcome to the sick ward. While she seems fine during the day and she hasn't been hit with a fever yet, Z's got a nasty-sounding nighttime cough. She refuses to take medicine, but I'm contemplating spiking a cup of OJ with Benadryl. In the meantime, she's getting some relief from Vicks BabyRub and a humidifier.

What she isn't getting is this message: Please don't kiss Baby A's face while you have a cough.

"But I'm not coughing right now," she retorts. Which is literally true, even if the previous moment witnessed her coughing into her elbow (good) and wiping her nose with her hand (ick).

It may already be a lost cause because A is pitifully congested. And miserable. She cried nonstop for over an hour tonight. About 55 minutes longer than she's ever cried before. There were real tears, for goodness sake!

I'm hoping for a quick recovery on all fronts, but in the meantime I need to get a little something off my chest: I really like using the snot sucker on my baby. It is so satisfying to extract a ginormous booger from my baby's tiny nostrils.

Blog Blast: How do you FIT it in?

Parent Bloggers Network and the fine women behind Ryka shoes (those mary jane sneaks are mine) have teamed up to ask moms how we fit fitness into our busy lives. Perfect timing for me, since I just passed the 6-week postpartum grace period and I'm finally working out regularly (at least until I return to a regular work schedule in early November).

So what's on mommy's workout plan? I'm hitting the YMCA 2-3 times a week for 15 minutes of cardio and 20-30 minutes of ab work and free weights. I take my toddler along and drop her off to explore the toys and climbing apparatus in the free babysitting room.

My newborn is welcome at the weekly postpartum yoga class I'm taking through the park district, although so far that class is more nursing, rocking and talking about kegels than it is cobra and downward dogging.

But that's the structured stuff. I also get burn a few more of those Trader Joe's peanut butter filled pretzels by wearing Baby A for at least an hour a day and squatting down to pick up toys and fallen pacis. Plus, I push both girls all over Oak Park and Forest Park in my beloved Phil and Teds Sport Buggy (to be the subject of a future post). And I'm sure there's some benefit to hauling laundry baskets upstairs, pushing swings and carrying around that infernal infant car seat!

If I'm going to keep this up I'm going need some new (and very cute) athletic shoes. Good thing Ryka's giving away 50 pairs of shoes and 50 tees every single day.

Z takes on the Field Museum

Check out my review of the Field Museum's new exhibit for 2-6 year olds, The Crown Family PlayLab.

Happy Jewish New Year

5767 was a blessed year for me. May 5768 prove just as sweet. L'shanah tovah to all my Jewish readers.

Want to see what I had to say on Rosh Hashana last year?

Products I love: Innobaby Packin' SMART

If you're the parent of a toddler, chances are you don't go anywhere without packing a snack. I quit carrying the diaper bag I'd shared with my husband because the two years of accumulated sippy cup spills and snack detritus that filled every nook and cranny was grossing me out. (And my husband was notorious for forgetting to remove Ziploc baggies of sticky dried cranberries, half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and opened-but-unfinished cheese sticks. Ick, ick, ick.

But I'm happy to say marital bliss has been restored. We're both huge fans of the Innobaby Packin' SMART snack caddy I received in my Chicago Moms Blog swag bag before the BlogHer conference. But we call it the SNACK TOWER, which is a much better name, dontcha think? This nifty invention lets you pack a variety of portion-controlled snacks without having to worry about pulverized Cheerios, open Ziploc bags or the mountain of landfill waste that disposable bags and containers contribute to.

Each individual container is the perfect size for a toddler snack portion and it fits perfectly in Z's hand. You can bring as few or as many of the interlocking containers as you wish, but I find it's fun to fill all but one up with a colorful variety of snacks (Fruity Cheerios, Cracklin' Oat Bran, pretzels and dried fruit are our standbys). The last container is perfect for stashing an extra pacifier for the baby.

Z loves the snack tower as much as we do. She pulls it out to show to her buddies and sweetly asks them, "Which snack do you want? This one? Okay, I'll have my mommy open it for us to share."

You don't have to be a toddler snack-toting mommy to get a kick out of Packin' SMART. You could use the tower to transport pre-measured baby formula powder, hair accessories, grilling spices or sewing notions.

Reading, 'riting and riding to preschool

So much on this van confuses me. Number one, check out the spelling of occasion. Number two, why the long name? Are you a Montessori school or a day care? Is a kiddie garden just like a kindergarten, but easier to spell? And how exactly can a child care center be available for any occasion, anyway? What, are they hoping someone might want to rent out the space for a Bar Mitzvah party?

Remembering September 11th

Early this morning a plane roared low and loud over our house.

Awakened by the noise, I said to my husband, "That sounded scary." I glanced over at the clock radio. 5:30 a.m., too early to get up. Still, today is September 11th, and that made me even more anxious than usual about low-flying planes.I was tempted to reach over and turn on NPR--just to make sure all was well.

But then I heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet.

"Something loud in my room scared me."

I pulled my my almost three-year-old into bed next to me and we dozed together for a half an hour or so. On the off chance that there had been another terrorist attack, I wanted to hold onto a little piece of closeness. To soak up her sweet innocence for a few more minutes.

As I type this all is well, at least in our country. Still, I can't get through this date on the calendar without feeling as though I'm holding my breath, waiting for something bad to happen.

And remembering. Because September 11th, 2001 was a beautiful, breezy day, just like today. I knew a plane had hit the WTC before I left for work. My husband texted me news updates as I rode the Brown Line. "ANOTHER PLANE." "THIS LOOKS BAD."

Usually my ride to work was silent. This time it was different. Commuters were longing for information, for a connection with others. By the time I'd reached my office, I couldn't shake the goosebumps. We huddled around a co-worker's tiny black and white TV for 45 long minutes before we were sent home. Home, were we sat glued to the coach, switching from channel to channel and seeing the same horrifying images over and over.

Before

A beautiful day at the Brookfield Zoo with our best friends. But it turns out we might have stayed there a little too long...

After

This was just the beginning of a one hour long tantrum.

Portillo's, are you listening?

It's been about 9 months since I published my correspondence with Portillo's, a Chicago chain of hot dog restaurants. I was concerned about trans fats and a little disturbed that they didn't make their nutritional information available on their website. Well, they admitted that they do indeed use the unhealthy fake fats and claimed they're too small a chain to afford to calculate their nutrition information.

Scared by what I don't know, I haven't been there since. But I've been tempted--there's always a long line at the Forest Park drive-through and their food, while probably about as bad for you as it gets, sure tastes good!

Anyway, it seems someone in the Portillo's marketing department needs to take note of this little thing called blogging. You see, I check StatCounter periodically to see what kind of search terms bring readers here, and I've discovered that at least one visitor every day arrives at my old Portillo's post by Googling "Portillo's nutrition info," "Portillo's transfats," or something similar. Which makes me a leading consumer voice for Portillo's. And I think it's plain to see I'm probably not putting out the kind of word of mouth they're looking for.

So I'm giving Portillo's a second chance. I emailed them again asking for comment and reminding them that I'm out here and my post is getting a lot of hits. I want to know if they'll reconsider their nutrition information policy and reconsider keeping trans fats on the menu. I'll be sure to share whatever I hear back here and on the Chicago Mom's Blog.

3/3/08: According to my site meter, this post gets between 10 and 50 hits a day-- proving that consumers want to know what's in their Portillo's meal. If you have a moment, please show you were here by leaving a comment.

3/11/09: Another year and even more daily hits (50-100) from folks looking for Portillo's nutrition information.

Stop in the name of bugs!

Z poses with her magnifying glass, which we took out in search of bugs and worms. She found an ant, which she squished between her fingers and dropped into the grass "so he could go back to be with his mommy."

Book review: The Little Black Book of Style

Dear Nina Garcia,

Let's just get this out of the way: I'm in awe of you. As Fashion Director of ELLE magazine and a judge on Project Runway, you define fabulousness. You ooze it.

So when Parent Bloggers Network invited me to preview your new book, The Little Black Book of Style, I salivated. I knew that if I could absorb just one-one hundredth of your fashion savvy, I would be--by far--the coolest mom on the block.

It wasn't long before your cute little hardback (adorably illustrated by Ruben Toledo) arrived in the mail, I knew right away it would fit perfectly in one of today's It bags. The problem is, I don't own an It bag.

You see, Nina, I don't need inspiration, I need direction. Fashion fundamentals. Reading your little black book is like taking French composition before passing French 101. Like trying to master the high dive before learning how to swim. Since I don't have the time or inclination to read the fashion magazine prerequisites for this guide book, I am completely out of my depth.

Sure, you drill us on a few basics, but they're so elementary even I've heard them before: invest in a great little black dress, a cashmere sweater and a white button-up shirt. Don't buy something just because it's on sale. Spend more on a few timeless pieces. Got it. But between working in an industry where image matters and dealing with the reality of being a mom to two very young children, I need you to spell out exactly what should be in my wardrobe. And I'll be passing on the fur, thank you very much.

I want a book that takes the "Girlfriend, here's what you need for your flat ass and poochy belly," attitude of What Not to Wear and pairs it with the catalog-like shopping sense of Lucky magazine (the Lucky of a few years ago, before they went all $500 pants on me). Oh, and can we keep the price-points at an H&M level? Cool.

I want you to take me shopping, Nina. Show me what will disguise my figure flaws, wash out spit-up and chocolate ice cream stains and require little to no ironing. Take my credit card and charge a few key pieces I can mix and match to create a week or two's worth of outfits. Don't tell me Michael Kors thinks every woman should own a pair of crocodile stilettos. Help me pick out a fabulous pair of Michael Kors trousers.

I don't trust my instincts, and a book full of mini interviews with fashion designers and a guide to finding style inspiration from famous films isn't going to get me to start. The Little Black Book of Style is the perfect primer for someone who's already halfway there, a glam gal with money burning a hole in her clutch. That said, reading your book as got me feeling that I need to inject a little bit of fabulousness into my daily looks. So today I changed out jeans and a tee shirt and put on a cute little nursing-friendly aqua dress. And I paired it with... a classic white button-up shirt.

Want to win my copy of The Little Black Book? Leave a comment telling me about your greatest fashion faux pas. Really want to win big? (We're talking $250 Coach bag big!) Participate in today's Parent Bloggers Network Blog Blast by blogging about the one item in your closet you are most ashamed of.

A mother of an invention

This baby countdown clock doesn't count down to baby's due date (something Josh actually programmed an Armageddon promotional item to do before Z arrived). Rather, the Itzbeen Baby Care Timer ($26), which I discovered at a fellow Chicago Moms Blog contributor's review site Mom Views, counts up from the last diaper change, feeding or nap. Genius.

Marketing Mommy hits the gym

After a year-long hiatus, we're members of the Y again. I made my first trip to the gym today, hitting up the cardio machines for 15 minutes before heading upstairs to focus on my core and legs. I only exercised for about 35 minutes, but hey, I'm easing back into the whole fitness thing. Something is better than nothing, right?

My goal is to tank up Baby A, strap my boobs into a double layer of sports bras, and run off to the gym 3 times a week. I don't want to subject her to the nasty germs and lackluster care that is the babysitting room, but I'm sure Z will be delighted to play with their toys and climbing apparatus.

And did I mention I'm also enrolled in post-partum yoga through the park district? Healthy living, here I come!

Who wants my vote?

Hillary, Barack or John...I'm not on a first name basis with any of you. But that could change if Illinois Senator Barack Obama responds to the Chicago Moms Blog call for a face-to-face meeting with Chicago's best-read mommybloggers. We want to meet with you and tell our corner of the world all about it.

So far the Democratic candidates are in about a dead heat for my vote. None has come out strongly enough in favor of the issues that matter the most to me: universal health care (preferably modeled on the Canadian or French system), paid maternity leave and strengthened environmental protection.

Lady and Gentlemen, I'm all ears.

Baby Photoshoot!

I undressed Baby A, turned off my camera's flash and snapped this photo of her on our bed. See more here.

Parenthack: Drop light up ice cubes in the bathtub

I'm going to have to credit my husband for this ingenious idea for luring our toddler into the tub. He saved some of the light up ice cubes he's been given at music festivals (apparently they are the promo giveaway of the summer) and kept them in the freezer. When it's time for Z's bath, he pulls one out and pops it into the tub for her to play with. Liquid activates the light source, so we turn off the bathroom lights and watch her experiment with the cube.

You can buy light up ice cubes online at places like this or check your local party supply store.

Products I love: Boudreaux's Butt Paste

I can't believe it's taken me two babies to find a diaper rash ointment that really works, but I finally gave Boudreaux's Butt Paste a try. It costs twice as much as other diaper creams, which is why I was initially hesitant to purchase it, but it is worth every penny. It cured Baby A's very painful looking diaper rash in one day. And unlike Desitin Original, it doesn't smell like old man.

Up to no good at naptime

There have been a couple of occasions in the past week or so that my almost three year old daughter Z hasn't wanted to take a nap. I've told her that if she plays quietly in her room she doesn't need to sleep. But she should stay put until nap time is over.

It worked well, for a short while. Then she started asking that her door be left open. Makes sense, seeing as we've taken her Pull-Ups away during afternoon nap; she needs access to the potty.

So today was a "quiet play" day. But things were particularly quiet toward the end. Suspiciously quiet. Then Z shows up at the top of the stairs with two crayons in her fist.

"What were you doing upstairs?"
"Drawing."
"What were you drawing on, paper? Is there paper in your room?"
"No. I was drawing on the wall."

I race upstairs and see scribbles all over the hallway wall.

"Oh, no! We don't draw on walls. We only draw on paper. Is this the only place you drew
pictures?"
"No. There's more in my room."

She shows me the scribbles on her wall, her floor and her sheets and apologizes, looking genuinely remorseful. I grab us each a damp washcloth and we get to work cleaning up the mess.

It turns out to be a cinch. Because those crayons? Tub crayons. They're made of soap! Which teaches us parents a valuable lesson. Like maybe we shouldn't encourage behavior in the bath that isn't acceptable out of the tub.

We got a new camera

Baby A is too cute to go for long without a replacement camera. We bought the latest version of the Canon Powershot Digital Elph that we've loved for so long.

More photos here.

Mommy's night out

I hit Emilio's Tapas with five girlfriends last night, my first time away from Baby A and the first time we've gotten together ever that no one's been pregnant (two pitchers of sangria were drunk to that!).

I thought WWIII was going to erupt before I left the house at 7:40. I nursed A until five minutes before leaving and I knew both she and Z would be asleep within the hour, but our eldest was on a tantruming rampage due to an action-packed, no-nap afternoon. Tears and snot poured down her face as she cried for Mommy to wash her hair, Mommy to put her night-night, and not Daddy [insert blood-curling scream here]!!!

But veteran mother that I am, I was not about to miss out on a night out with friends. So like ripping off a Band-Aid, I said my goodbyes quickly and hightailed it out of there before anyone could suggest otherwise. I offered to Josh that a walk around the block in their jammies might wind everyone down, and apparently it did. I got a text message around 8:30 saying that Z was an angel and A was as easy as pie (she usually is).