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?

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.

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

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

Nonsequitor

Said Z this morning, "When cars get sick, they go to the dentist!"

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.

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.

Pictures from Portland

Check out a few of the snapshots I took on my trip.

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."

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.

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?

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?

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.