Looking back on Pitchfork

This weekend mega music festival Lollapalooza takes over Grant Park, but I won't be taking the girls again this year. I did, however, take them both to the Pitchfork Festival for the third year in a row. (Year one A went on her due date, but she was still safely in utero.)

Anyway, I could brag about how much more Chicago and indie cred Pitchfork has over Lolla, but that ink's been spilled before.

Instead, I'm going to insist you check out photographer Ryan Hodgson-Rigsbee's latest issue of Urban Nature, which includes lots of beautiful, moody pictures from Pitchfork. And, if you check out the outtakes, you'll see this picture of A, backstage in the rain.


Compare, if you will, with my photos from the fest.

My 800th post: Life as a Pitchfork Widow

"Can't you at least pretend you're okay with me leaving you with the girls all day?" asked Josh as he left this morning.

Um, no. The happy housewife mask requires at least 6 hours of sleep to fit correctly. I got about 4 last night thanks to a cranky, clinging baby who refused to sleep and required constant holding between 2:30 and 5:15am. Naturally, her big sister woke up at 5:40.

Baby A continued to be out of sorts most of the day--she didn't want to eat until the afternoon, she was drooling up a storm, and her napping schedule was all thrown off. In spite of the nap shortage (heck, I could have used one too), we managed to have some fun, tricycling up and down the street, making milkshakes and stealing our neighbor's wading pool for a little aggressive splashing (Z) and peeing in the pool (A). We also joined a few friends for a backyard BBQ.


I want to ride my trike from almaklein on Vimeo.

But by the time I got them into the car to drive home, both of the girls were exhausted and hysterical. And, in a parenting low point, I shouted, "Shut up!" to Z as she tearfully complained how it wasn't fair that her car seat was down low and A's was up high and I needed to fix it right now.

Did you follow that? We were parallel parked and Z's side was closer to the curb--thus, it she was sitting somewhat lower. They both cried through their bath (I even skipped the soap and just rinsed off the sweat and visible dirt) and Z wailed as I nursed A because she was "so lonely and scared" right outside A's bedroom door.

At least they were both asleep by 8pm!

Rockin' my due date

Yesterday came and went without the arrival of number two, but it wasn't for lack of effort. I decided there could be no less convenient place to go into labor than a rock show, so I packed Z into our new stroller and took the El to meet Josh at the Pitchfork Music Festival in Union Park.

Pelvic pain had me waddling around like a caricature of a heavily pregnant woman, but I was lucky enough to get to stay in the VIP area, which offered room to spread out our blanket and free Chipotle and ice cream to eat. What it didn't technically offer is flush toilets, and Z refused to "go potty on the poo-poo" in a port-a-potty. Fortunately Josh's connections won us an escorted trip into the Field House where artists could enjoy the luxury of modern facilities.

On the way home, I hoped that one of the other riders might help me carry the stroller down the steep train station steps while I helped Z down. But the only person who paid us any mind was a certifiably crazy old lady who berated me for not asking her for help. She started yelling something about how I wouldn't ask her because she was Black, but little did I know she's "married to a white doctor" and her name is "Laura Bush."

Anyway, I thought all the stress and exertion might have paid off when I started having contractions around 2am last night. But it was false labor that went away after I'd walked around, used the bathroom and had a snack. But maybe today will be the day; I'm feeling pretty crampy and sore this morning.