I am a Boogie Superstar

My name is Alma, and I am a Boogie Superstar.

My Facebook friends know this already, but after weeks of subscribing to text alerts from Amazon, I finally scored a Wii Fit.And before it even arrived on my doorstep, I'd decided to sell it.

Why? Because a girl with the Boogie SuperStar hookup doesn't need Wii Fit to work up a sweat!

As my 4 year old says, watching me work it to "Hot 'N' Cold" and "He Said She Said," "when you're dancing on the Wii it's good to be on fire."

I don't pretend to be a video game expert. We've only had the Wii for a few months and we own a mere handful of games. But while Wii Sports and Wii Play bore me to tears and Super Mario Galaxy taxes both my abilities and my attention span, Boogie SuperStar lets me bust a move and sing along to over 35 Top 40 songs, including pop, dance and urban hits that are so recent they're still on the radio.

The game comes with a microphone, and you can sing along karaoke-style or dance holding the Wiimote. Your skills are critiqued by a snide panel inspired by reality television judges. It is easier to master than DDR, so I quickly caught on and started amassing tokens which I've been using to unlock more songs and update my wardrobe. I'm sure Boogie SuperStar would be an absolute blast to play with girlfriends or older, Wii-savvy kids, but I've managed to log hours of play all by myself.

But usually not alone. Z sometimes dances or sings along and Josh sits in the background, checking his email and snickering as I butcher the lyrics to less familiar songs.

I don't know if Boogie SuperStar is going to have much of a shelf life once the songs included on it disappear from Hot 100 since it seems you can't download new tunes to it via an Internet connection. But until I'm tired of "El-El-Ella-vator," my living room rug remains a dance floor.

This review of Boogie SuperStar with Microphone was made possible by Parent Bloggers Network, who will be posting a review roundup shortly.

A fancy-pants dinner date (for less)

I put myself in a cholesterol-laden food coma last night, but it was a heavenly, chocolate and homemade marshmallow food coma. You see, Josh and I traded sitting with our neighbors (free babysitting!) and headed to the award-winning restaurant HotChocolate where we skipped beverages and appetizers, in order to best gorge ourselves on entrees and dessert.

HotChocolate isn't cheap; my burger, which, incidentally was made from hand-ground locally raised beef, artisanal cheddar and bacon on a brioche roll and was the best burger of my whole life, cost $13 and Josh's wild-mushroom lasagne was $16. But we had a free $25 gift certificate from Restaurant.com that I'd earned for filling out a survey or something, which lowered our $64 check (we got a $12 box of cookies to go) to just under $40 (plus a $12 tip).

I'd heard good things about Restaurant.com from WantNot and Shoplifting With Permission, but now I'm a believer. Go today and enter the promo code JOY and you can save 50%, meaning a $25 gift certificate to one of your favorite local restaurants is just $5. That's a good deal, but once it in a while it gets even better and they offer a code for 80% off!

Craft fair cage match?

This weekend handmade-happy shoppers like me can drag ourselves away from Etsy and hit two separate alterna-craft fairs, each featuring over 150 vendors. What distinguishes an alterna-craft fair from the typical Holiday craft market, you ask? Think ironic tees, knockoff ugly dolls and crocheted cloche hats instead of Christmas sweaters, snowman figurines and crocheted tissue box covers. The tattoos to Grandmas factor leans heavily toward the former.

The Renegade Craft Fair is December 6 and 7th from 11-7 at the Pulaski Park fieldhouse in Wicker Park.

DEPART-ment is sponsored by Etsy and located at 2000 W Fulton (near the United Center). Shop Friday night from 7-11 as well as Saturday and Sunday from 11-5.

Yes, I'm also a laundress

Here's a tip: fitted sheets and teeny, tiny baby socks should not be washed in the same load of laundry.

Just sayin'.

Shit on the stepstool

While climbing the staircase for her bath, Baby A grabbed her tush and said "Ow." I asked her if she needed to go poop. She shook her head no.

I said, "Do you want to sit on the potty?" knowing full well she's only 16 months old and there's a snowflake's chance in hell she'd produce.

She nodded, smiled and finished climbing up the steps. I undressed her in the bathroom and fished the potty insert out of the linen closet where it's been gathering dust for a year. She sat for a second and shook her head, saying "No!"

I helped A climb down from the toilet and Z stripped and climbed on. Then, as I was adjusting the temperature of the bath water, a butt-naked A climbed up the step stool to the sink and grabbed her toothbrush.

Then she proceeded to squirt shit all over the bottom step.

I've done enough damage to you, dear readers, without telling you about how I managed to clean up said shit with my preschooler on the toilet hollering "Daddy, A pooped on the step stool," my toddler perched precariously above the poo and clothes strewn all over our tiny bathroom floor. Suffice it to say my hands received a scrubbing worthy of a surgeon before I bathed the kids.

"Tutu!"

A only speaks a couple of dozen words, but one we hear all day long is "tutu." She wants to wear it all the time.

Proximidade Award

I'm thankful for all my blog readers, but I was especially touched to be honored by one of them this week. Shari from Two Times the Fun (can you tell she's the mother of twins?) awarded me this badge.
This blog invests and believes in the PROXIMITY - nearness in space, time and relationships! These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind of bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.
Perhaps something got lost in the translation? Anyway, I'm not going to nominate eight, but here are three of my favorite undiscovered bloggers.
Little Bigfoot, my sister, who is now expecting her second little bigfoot
Minding Mizz, my best friend from high school, who's now minding two boys
Su La Li, Chicago Moms Blog contributor and mother of two girls

On the Thankgiving menu

Turkey with molasses butter from Real Simple
Smashed potatoes from Cooks Illustrated
My own fruited bread stuffing
Butternut squash souffle from Family Fun
Cranberry-apricot sauce
Julie's green salad
Challah
Pear cherry pie from Martha Stewart

Men of Movember

I work with many of these guys, all of whom are growing moustaches this November to raise prostate cancer awareness and funds. Buy their calendar; it's for a good cause!

menofmovember.com

My vagina smells like Teen Spirit

After 20 months of period-free living (pregnancy and breastfeeding can do that to a girl), I welcomed home Aunt Flo. But Aunt Flo was a changed woman. No longer the unobtrusive house guest content to drop in for a couple of days, she was a bitchy, demanding visitor who required I stock my cabinets full of feminine hygiene products and my kitchen with copious quantities of chocolate.

You see, I got fitted for an IUD, and the hormone-free Paragardhas a well-earned reputation for causing heavy periods. So heavy, in fact, that I had to purchase my very first box of super tampons. But even the green wrappers weren't cutting it, so I stood in the sanitary aisle at Walgreen's, wondering if I dare try super plus.

I flashed back to middle school, remembering how horrifyingly giant my Mom's square-topped cardboard applicator Super Tampax looked to my 13-year-old virgin self. But I'm not that girl anymore. Hell, I pushed an 8 lb baby out of my hoo-ha. Certainly I can manage the orange wrapped super plus.

Only I grabbed the wrong box by mistake. I took home an 18 count box offreshly scented Super Plus Tampax, and didn't notice my error until bedtime. "Honey," I said as I crawled into bed, "if you catch a whiff of cheap perfume under the covers, it's coming from my vagina." Indeed, I could detect a faint scent, reminiscent, perhaps of Teen Spirit deodorant. Or toilet bowl cleaner.

Now I don't believe in artificially fragrancing my lady parts. I don't do it on the days when they might see some action, and I definitely don't see the point when Aunt Flo's spending the night.

We're not always this uncivilized

Spaghetti slob from almaklein on Vimeo.
Yes, she started dinner in a bib, I swear.

These are a few of her favorite things...

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.
A show. With singing. High school teenagers.
Tickets and darkness. A curtains and stage.
These are the things that my 4 year old craves.

With nothing much shaking Sunday afternoon, Julie and I took our older kiddos to a local high school production of The Sound of Music. We left at intermission (not that the girls were any the wiser) as 1 1/2 hours of singing Nazis in a warm auditorium had left them nearly comatose.

In all fairness, though, before she started nodding off in my lap, Z was transfixed. "Are they all high schoolers?" she kept whispering to me, wide-eyed with wonder at all teenagers are capable of. "Yes," I answered, "except for the four littlest Van Trapps and the head Nun." Who , incidentally looked an awful lot like a real Mother Superior. Trinity is a Catholic high school, but she could have been the lunch lady for all I know. In any case, she possessed perhaps the worst singing voice I've ever heard.

My daughter, the very busy creative director

Josh dropped Z off at my office yesterday afternoon around 3pm, which meant she got to experience ad agency cube life lite for 2 hours.

First, she stopped by people's cubicles to say hi. In Holly's office she was given an old Blackberry and invited in to color on jumbo Post-It boards with permanent markers! Tara regaled her with medical stories and Maggie and Rachel offered her Andrea's workspace, complete with computer and telephone. Mags also taught her how to call people's extensions, unleashing a new beast, the telephone dialing 4-year-old.

Wondering why my daughter had no interest in hanging with Mommy, I went looking for her.

"Hi, Mommy! Mommy, pretend you're the girl and I'm the Mommy and you're visiting me at work."
"Hi, Mommy."
"Say, 'What are you doing, Mommy?'"
"What are you doing, Mommy?"
"I'm very busy on my Blackberry and my computer and my phone. Wait! My phone is ringing! Hello? What are you doing?" She puts down the phone. "Oh, wait! I need to order a pizza!"
A moment later...
"Okay, say 'Will you play with me, Mommy?'"
"Will you play with me, Mommy?"
"No, I can't play with you because I'm working. Now, pretend we're home. Say 'Mommy, I don't want you to go to work today."
"Mommy, don't go to work today. Stay home with me."
"No, I have to go to work so I can pay bills. Telephone bills. I have to pay bills on my computer at work. Now, little girl, if you go to school and have lunch and take a nap, your dad will pick you up and stop at home for 10 minutes and then he'll take you to my work. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Now you can leave. I'm going to stay here with Maggie and Rachel. Hey, what's inside this Hello Kitty cup?"

A very sobering birth story

Unfortunately the author of this post didn't have the birth she'd always wanted. But she has her life; and she's thankful for that.

One point that frequently gets missed in the hoopla over home birth is that hospitals, as flawed as they may be, are equipped to save lives.

I wish more hospitals and OBGyns supported natural childbirth. I was lucky to have my VBAC in an alternative birthing center within a hospital, but I recently found out that the midwife practice I used has lost their coverage for VBACs. I guess I pushed out A just in time.

Finally, some good parenting advice

Was I unreasonable to expect cheerfulness, cooperation and about two dozen fewer tears from Z this morning as I attempted to get her dressed, groomed, shod and next door to drop her little sister off at day care?

Apparently, yes. According to this Slate article, our expectations of our children's psychological abilities, even more than of their physical abilities, are typically much too high. Meaning Z became emotionally unhinged because she couldn't cope with having to share a toy with her sister and deal with pants that were too loose and practically falling down and share my lap with her sister and comply with my instructions to put on her damn coat already and stop standing in the doorway letting all the cold air blow in!

Must Watch: Campbell's vs. Progresso

A girl and her automobile

Speaking of cars, no one is buying any. Do you think the government should bail out American car companies? Naturally my agency is pushing employees to support a bailout since GM is a major client.

The Motrin debacle makes the NY Times

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but there's a very special circle in Hell for those who scorn the heaviest users of social networking: connected moms.

NY Times: Moms and Motrin

Baby A is 16 months old today

My not so little girl is off the bottle and off the boob (although not by choice) and sleeping better than ever. Last night (and I sure hope I'm not jinxing this by blogging), she slept from 6:50 p.m. to 6:20 a.m!

She's adding new words to her vocabulary every day and it's clear she understands most of what we're saying. She's also started mimicking her sister and other bigger kids. On Saturday she watched Z play hide and go seek with a couple of friends and she lined up against the wall and put her hands over her eyes as they counted to 20.

Motrin pisses of a whole mess of moms

Myself included.

Aside from wondering what bullshit agency put together an ad this moronic (hello, there are working moms in the ad world; you could hire one), I don't have anything to add to this momversation that hasn't been tweeted or blogged ad nauseum. I didn't check Twitter once this weekend, so I'm a little late to the game.

So read this from Her Bad Mother, this from Mom-101 (also an ad creative) and this from Ms. Adventures in Babywearing herself.

By the way, Motrin, I'd need a whole lot more headache pills if I didn't keep wearing Baby A. Half the time she on my hip or in the Ergo, it's because she'd started throwing an ear-piercing "up" tantrum at my feet!

A very granola holiday

This won't be the first holiday where friends and family will receive handmade gifts. In high school I was really into ceramics and everyone got a hand-thrown bowl or mug. In my twenties I knit, so elementary-level hats and scarves made their way into holiday care packages.

I've experimented with layered cookie mix jars, iPhoto mini albums, boxes of cookies (driedels and menorahs sprinkled with blue sugar) and years and years worth of homemade rubber stamp holiday cards.

But my list is getting longer, my budget's getting smaller and I need a gift that Z can help me make.

So my goal this year is to gift granola. I'm experimenting with recipes (a little Epicurious and a little Mom) and a test batch is baking in the oven as I write this. It smells heavenly.

Share your homemade holiday gifts at this Klutz-sponsored blog blast from Parent Bloggers Network).

On the train with a drunkard

If only the 25 cent fare increase announced today would help remove crazy people with open, giant cans of beer from the CTA. I would mind so much, but he's been mumbling obscenities for the past 20 minutes.

In case you can't tell, I have a Blackberry now.

This post breaks my heart

Jill from the NJ Moms Blog posted today about how her experience being sexually abused as a child has shaped her parenting choices. She admits she's overprotective, but goes on to say she'd never let her daughter go to a friend's house if only the child's dad is home. Too bad if the kid's got a stay-at-home dad or a single father, she just won't do it.

Jill's story is devastating--she was molested by her (now late) stepbrother and received no support from her family when she finally came forward--but I believe she's sending the wrong message to her daughter. She's telling her no men can be trusted. All men are suspect. And she's making it hard for guys like Josh, who are the primary caregivers and playdate supervisors for little girls of their own.

Perhaps its my belief in the fundamental goodness of people, but I'd rather teach my girls to trust their instincts (while keeping the parts of their bodies covered by a swimsuit private) than fear the worst in every boy or man.

The View

News flash: women like to talk. A lot. I don't know that the daytime women's gabfest has shown much more depth this year than it has in previous, but the women of The View did earn some grudging respect for asking the Presidential candidates hard questions during the election. And daily clips of Elisabeth Hasselbeck losing her shit and/or getting yelled at by the rest of the crew meant that Americans beyond the SAHM target got to be on a first-name basis with Whoopi, Babwa, Joy and Sherri.

And when there's fame, comedy is sure to follow. I saw The Spew, an improv send-up of The View with a group of friends Sunday night at ComedySportz. It's funny--well worth the $10 ticket charge and its been extended for two more weeks.

And there's also this from Target: Women.

Yes, I'm finally weaning my baby

I never thought I'd end up nursing A until she was pushing 16 months of age, but time flies with number two and Josh and I were just too damned lazy to make the effort (at 5:30am, mind you) to wean her. But with some encouragement from my sister, we're finally doing it. For the past two mornings, Josh has picked our little early riser out of her crib and marched her straight downstairs for breakfast! Hopefully she'll forget about my boobs sooner rather than later and I can stop worrying about her angrily sticking her hands down my shirt in public.

But it's not just us parents who are hitting the milestones. A's had a virtual word explosion in the last week. After months of Mama, cat, dog, mine, bye, night-night, agua and not much else, A's been surprising us with all kinds of pronouncements. Among her new words are mine, bird, house, car, vroom-vroom, bag, brush, juice, woof-woof, baby, banana and snack. And she's named her beloved pacifier "nah."

BlogHer 2009

See that little badge to the right? Apparently my hometown's not just the place to be on Election Night; it's home to BlogHer 2009! As you might remember, I took 10 day old Baby A to BlogHer 2007 and had to miss 2008 because it was the same weekend as the Pitchfork Music Festival.

I think this is worth staying downtown for. Who wants to share a room at the Sheraton?

My kind of birthday party

Our afternoon birthday party at the River Forest Community Center went off without a hitch. Of the 21 kids invited, 20 RSVPed and 19 showed up (one was sick). Tina, our party coordinator, showed her teacher credentials; she was amazing. I didn't have to think up games, convince kids to participate or worry about some kid unspooling all the toilet paper into my toilet.

In addition to climbing around the playland, where the birthday party ostensibly was, the kids enjoyed about half an hour of classic childhood games and parachute play in the large gym.

And, of course, there was cake.

Happy 4th Birthday from almaklein on Vimeo.

In case you were wondering, the party favors were a huge hit.

My strange Thanksgiving in South Bend

I've only spent one Thanksgiving in my life without my parents or my (now) husband, Josh. However, in November of 1997 Josh was on tour with Aden and my parents were living in Uzbekistan. A college friend of mine--let's call her Andrea (that's not her name, but I honestly can't remember what it was; we were not all that close)--invited me to accompany her home for Thanksgiving in South Bend.

South Bend's about a two hour drive from Chicago, and I headed east with my friend and my foil-wrapped cranberry-orange bread on a blustery cold Thursday morning. She drove a rusty old 1985 Toyota van and her kitten came with us, curled up on my lap or on the dashboard. Her van made the most distinctive sound as we rode as she had pebbly snow tires on them, something that was apparently illegal in Chicago but that she got away with because her car was registered in Indiana.

Her parents--or was it her dad and her stepmom?--lived in a nice enough suburban house, but what I remember most about the trip was that the turkey was smoked in the backyard, her mom required us to be totally silent as she worked on a massage therapy client in the living room and we followed up our Thanksgiving dinner with a late night visit to a local nightclub. A local gay nightclub. In South Bend. It was not a particularly happening scene.

I think we rounded out the weekend with some Black Friday shopping at the local mall, but I don't remember too much except for feeling uncomfortable and out of place imposing as I was on such an intimate family Thankgiving with a classmate I liked but honestly didn't know terribly well.

Although this post isn't exactly about my Thanksgiving cooking adventures, it was inspired by the Parent Bloggers Network Butterball Blog Blast.

Rachel Getting Married

And I'm getting sick. I actually had to leave the movie early because the shaky cam was about to make me throw up.

Does this happen to anyone else?

More on election night

I expanded upon my election night blog post for the Chicago Moms Blog, and my contribution is being cross-posted to sister sites in cities across the country.

Happy 4th Birthday, Z

What do I say about you on your 4th birthday, Z? Now that you've graduated out of infancy, babyhood and toddlerhood and are a full-fledge preschooler--hell, a kid, recounting your milestones isn't as simple as noting your pincher grasp, your first steps, your budding vocabulary. You're so much more complex now. So much more a person. And so much more civilized than you were just six months ago. Potty training is a distant memory. I don't have even have to worry about nighttime accidents any more. You still like to eat pancakes with your hands, but you're tidy at mealtimes. No drips on your clothes, no crumbs on the floor, no spilled milk across the table. You've started saying "please" and "thank you." Sometimes you'll even say you're sorry!

And you're smart, that much is clear. Your teachers, your gymnastics coach, your friends' parents, even total strangers remark on what a bright little girl you are. You speak clearly, effortlessly, and you have a very extensive vocabulary. You reason well; your reading comprehension and memory is astonishing and you can write and spell a dozens of names and words. You've also got decent math skills; using your fingers, you can add and subtract figures under 10.

You are social. You have a tight little circle of girlfriends at school and you're also close friends with neighbors and long-time playmates. You make friends easily, playing with new kids after only a few minutes of quietly sizing them up.

You love to draw, sing and play pretend, and you have an active imagination. You're titillated by "bad stuff" and insist I make up an "Eleanor and Abigail story" every night before bed (think Goofus and Gallant for girls).

You're a born negotiator. According to you, everything is up for negotiation: bathtime, bedtime, the number of books read at bedtime, dinner entrees, the number of bites you'll take before dessert becomes a possibility, etc. etc. It is not your father and my favorite characteristic, but I admire your reasoned arguments and recognize the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

If I had to make a prediction on what the next 365 days will bring, I'd guess you will learn to read, you'll endure some playground cruelty (even 4 year old girls can be catty) and your relationship with your sister will blossom.

This is you, today.

I was there

I had planned to throw a pizza party on Election Night, but on Monday two of my coworkers volunteered their plus-one passes to the rally in Grant Park. I spent my lunch hour finding a babysitter, retracting my party invitations and logging onto CNN and Huffington Post for the latest news.

I voted early Tuesday morning and spent the day at work giddy with excitement and the caffeine from my free cup of Starbucks coffee. My downtown office closed early so I was able to spend time with my kids before begging our neighbor's teenager to come over soon so we could make it to the rally. We'd planned on meeting my friends at 8:00 since the gates were scheduled to open at 8:30, but the rally organizers started letting supporters in a little after six.

Josh and I jogged to the El and made it downtown around 7:30. Finding Casey, who is 6 feet tall, is usually a cinch, but we struggled, text-messaging and calling, through the tightly packed throngs before finally meeting up near the front of the line.

Security wasn't as tight as we'd heard it might be. Although we were asked to have them out and ready, IDs weren't given more than a cursory glance as we moved from one gate to the next.

At 8:30 we were in Grant Park. The mood was celebratory as we'd just heard Pennsylvania had gone blue. When the news from Ohio came in, spirits lifted even higher. Strangers were updating each other with news feeds from their iPhones and admiring each others' Obama apparel. The jumbotron was tuned to CNN and as the crowd watched, cheering as projections came in for Obama and jeering states that went for McCain.

At 10 o'clock Chicago time the polling places in California, Oregon and Washington closed and Barack Obama was declared our next president. The crowd went wild, hugging, kissing, clapping and crying before quieting down to listen to John McCain's concession speech.

I haven't recited the Pledge of Allegiance since the fourth grade, but at 10:30 PM I was saying those familiar, sober words alongside 200,000 others on a crisp, beautiful evening in my favorite city. There were tears in my eyes, but they were tears of joy.

I've never felt so proud to be an American.

Since we'd promised our babysitter we'd be home before midnight, Josh and I left Grant Park midway through Obama's speech. We could still hear his inspiring worlds as we walked toward Michigan Avenue, passing the opportunistic vendors of bootleg "Obama, Commander in Chief" and "Yes He Did" t-shirts, buttons and posters.

As we headed for the El, I felt like I was leaving the frustration and turmoil of the Bush years behind and entering a new era.

I felt hope.

No voting hiccups here

I woke up at 6:15 this morning, before either of my children had greeted the dawn. By 7am, Josh and I were both showered and downstairs eating breakfast with the girls. I biked over to my local polling place at 7:30. No line, no waiting. I Baracked the Vote and cycled home (slowly, my back tire is almost flat) before 8am, leaving me just enough time to pack a lunch and train it to work, getting in before 9.

If only every morning could run so smoothly...

One more day

I feel like a kid on the day before my birthday, I'm that keyed up about tomorrow's election! I'm going to vote first thing in the morning, and I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep a wink tonight.

And here's the best part: I will be in Grant Park watching America's first Black president deliver his (knock on wood) acceptance speech. Three of the women I work with managed to score tickets, and each ticket is for two. I don't know yet if we'll get a babysitter and Josh will come downtown with me (he should, given his dedication to the cause), but I will be joining my friends and about 1 million other celebrants tomorrow night on the lakefront. Woo-hoo!

I wouldn't be Marketing Mommy if I didn't pause to tell you about the promotions companies are offering on Election Day. You can show your "I voted" sticker to the baristas at Starbucks and get a free tall coffee. Krispy Kreme is offering free doughnuts and Ben & Jerry's will be giving out free ice cream cones after 5pm. My jewelry-loving Oak Park peeps can head over to Team Blonde's new location in Forest Park for 10% their purchase.

The day we took a dollhouse to Hephzibah House

When Rookie Mom Whitney wrote to me asking if I'd like to accept two Mrs. Goodbee Caring Corners Dollhouses--one for my daughter and one for us to give to charity--I immediately accepted. I'd already decided to get Z a dollhouse for her fourth birthday, so the timing couldn't have been more perfect.

The dollhouses arrived in October and Z was thrilled. Caring Corners is a three-story plastic dollhouse with plastic dolls and furniture, but it isn't hideously tacky. And while it does "talk" and make noises, the battery-powered interactivity cheerfully encourages good manners and good habits: "If you're looking for something to eat, fruits and vegetables make a tasty treat!" chimes Mrs. Goodbee when you open the fridge.

The dollhouse folds closed for storage and opens wide to reveal 11 rooms, far more than most dollhouses I've seen. There are five to six rooms on each side, making it easy for two kids to play at once without bashing elbows and fighting over of the furniture.

And speaking of furniture, while it includes basic furnishings built into the home, you'll probably want to invest $20-$40 in additional playsets--for the furniture and the people. The dollhouse alone only comes with a girl, a baby, a dog and a chair.

But enough with the product review, on to the dollhouse giveaway. I wanted Z's first experience with charity to meaningful and memorable for her, something far more personal than the Salvation Army truck. So I called Oak Park's own Hephzibah Children's Association and made arrangements to give the dollhouse to a six year old girl who lives in their group home for neglected and abused children.

On Sunday morning Z and I drove over to Hephzibah House and met M in the front room. Z showed M all of the cool things the dollhouse can do, flushing the toilet and turning on the radio while I learned more about the organization's 120 year history from their volunteer coordinator, Maureen McGoorty.

When it was clear the girls had hit it off, we took a tour of the home, seeing their playroom, library, kitchen, dining room and living quarters. M even showed Z her very own room before we headed outside. Z marveled that their backyard was "just like a park," furnished as it was with a playground, a treehouse and a gazebo. It's an amazing place, full of caring staff and kids (the average age was 8) who seemed well-adjusted and happy. Maureen told me that, while they have to find foster care placement or another environment for their children when they turn 12, they remain involved in their lives and over 90 percent finish high school--far better than the DCFS average. I wish they could care for every ward of the state, but they have room for only 27 children at a time.

I'm grateful to Whitney and to Learning Curve, the maker of the dollhouses for inspiring me to help Z learn to be grateful for all she has and about the importance of giving back. I plan to make giving a gift to a child at Hephzibah House an annual birthday tradition.

I'm not doing goodie bags

There, I've said it. My children are young enough that I still love birthday parties, but I really dislike the party favor bags given away at the party's end. As much as I appreciate the effort and the generosity, my kids don't need another cellophane bag full of crap from Oriental Trading or the dollar store. Sure, my daughter is initially thrilled to get something on her way out, but frankly she doesn't need to be eating candy after downing all that cake and juice and the novelty items lose their novelty by the time we make it home.

As disposable as goodie bag junk is, I'm loathe to throw away the foam visors, unsharpened pencils, cheap sunglasses and battery-less mini flashlights. So they sit, gathering dust atop my refrigerator. A more "together" mom might bundle party favors into zip-top bags and bring them along to restaurant meals, but it's all I can do to remember the diaper bag, my phone and the house keys.

Anyway, my daughter's fourth birthday is rapidly approaching and we're throwing her a party at the local community center. I didn't stress about the guest list, the Costco cake or the invitations, but figuring out what to do about the damn party favors was keeping me up at night! I didn't want go mean mommy and cheap out completely, but I wanted to do something green. Something that didn't involve buying ugly plastic crap that was made in China (laced with lead?), shipped around the world and would only be played with for moments before becoming more landfill. Had money been no object, I would have purchased a Sigg water bottle for every attendee. But since we've got 20 RSVPs, I would have spent more on the bottles than I did on the room rental!

Finally, a solution came to me: gift certificates. I bought 20 certificates good for a free kid's ice cream cone at my favorite ice cream parlor, the very place that hosted my baby shower exactly four years ago. Each certificate cost $1.85, but I got 1 free for every 9 purchased.

I'm pretty pleased: I managed to find a party favor that's green, affordable and supports a local business. Yes, it's not all that healthy, but what do you want, a coupon good for a bag of carrots?

Wherein Z hogs the spotlight

Here's a clip of A playing peek a boo by pulling Z's hat over her face. But it's hard to pay attention since Z keeps darting into view, filling the air with a bunch of nonsense. And she's typically pretty articulate...

Ah, sisterhood.

Untitled from almaklein on Vimeo.

I feel like a kid again

After sneaking out of work an hour early, I joined a few neighborhood families for a round of trick or treating. Our block has three amazing houses. The token Republicans (who, incidentally, don't have a McCain sign up this year) give out full-sized candy bars. The local Democratic organizers were giving out candy to the kids and margaritas and Obama lawn signs to the grown-ups. And another family brings a carnival atmosphere to their front porch with a rented treat machine every year. On previous Halloweens it's been a cotton candy machine; this year it was popcorn. Which, incidentally, was the only treat A indulged in. (Yes, I know popcorn isn't recommended for one year olds.)

We headed west two blocks to Kenilworth, which was hopping with costumed kids and a house completely tricked out as a hillbilly haunted house, complete with a slack-jawed brothers (one of whom was wielding a chain saw) and their wife/cousin, who was sporting a homemade Palin for President button.

Speaking of politics, we saw a man dressed as Michelle Obama, my friend Nancy's daughter dressed as Sarah Palin and local mom dressed as the crazy McCain lady from SNL.

After trick or treating, playing with her friends, passing out candy and spreading her Halloween haul out on the living room carpet to admire, it was time to wash the chocolate off her face and the glitter out of her hair (thanks, Sharon!) and get ready for bed.

As soon as I'd tucked her in, I headed to Toys R Us to pick up a USA puzzle--a gift from the Halloween Fairy in exchange for the bulk of Z's candy.

Happy Halloween!

Here's Z, ready to suck your blood!

With Halloween celebrations taking place for a whole week before the big day, she's already been Tinkerbell (this year's costume), a cheerleader (dress-up clothes) and Sleeping Beauty (last year's costume). Who knows what she'll wear for trick or treating tonight...

I'll post photos of our pumpkins after we light them tonight. Josh carved an Ooobama jack 'o lantern and I drilled a bunch of holes into mine for a polka-dotted effect.

She's lucky she's cute

There is no better recipe for family discord than two irritated, sleep-deprived parents and an overtired, overwrought toddler.

Josh thought keeping A up a little later might encourage her to sleep in a little later. Seems logical, right? Well, his experiment backfired massively. Now, instead of hearing her call out at 5:50, she's screaming her head off at 4am. Nothing soothes her except joining us (read: my boobs) in bed. And frankly, I'd like to quit the early wakings and wean the kid in one fell swoop.

I'm tired.

I'm done.

So, per Dr Weissbluth, we're reversing course and moving her bedtime up tonight. And again when we turn our clocks back this weekend. If she can sleep until a halfway decent hour, Josh and I will be happy to get up with her and keep her from obsessing about what's under my shirt.

Potty humor. For women.

Sarah Haskins takes on advertisers' euphemisms for poop.

Allow me to introduce my daughter

"A little bit about me" from a 3 year old from almaklein on Vimeo.
She's about as articulate as your average reality show contestant, don't you think?

Which tax cut will work for you?

Josh and I would save $1000 a year under Barack Obama's tax plan and $120 a year with John McCain's. Figure out who benefits you.

Halloween block party, then and now

Z and Gia in 2007...

And again this year.

Another overly full weekend

I kicked off the weekend Friday night by sharing a couple of pitchers of Lalo's margaritas with my girlfriends in the neighborhood. I went to bed a little drunk at 11:30, and was up again at 12:30 when Z insisted their were "noises" that required she move into our room. I made her sleep on our floor, which she complained was uncomfortable for 15 minutes before falling asleep on it. Then A had us up (screaming bloody murder) from 2:30 to 4, at which point I brought her to our bed and she passed out with her feet in my face.

So I was in fine form for our jam-packed Saturday.
9-12 and 3-4: Cold, damp Halloween block party. Z was Tinkerbell, chilled to the bone. A muddied her Piglet costume and hugged dogs.
1-3: The kids napped while I laundered Piglet.


4-6: Montessori school Halloween party. Z decides to wear the cheerleading outfit from her dress-up box. A, while now a clean piglet, is completely overwhelmed by the chaos that is a gym full of 75 sugar-fueled, costume-bedecked preschoolers. I can't keep track of which boy is which since they are ALL dressed as superheroes or Power Rangers.
6:30-10:45: Josh and I leave the kids at home and head out for Korean barbecue with Althea, who like Josh is a freelance music critic, but unlike Josh is the most outgoing, social creature on the planet. We hit San Soo Gab San and let Althea order her favorite cuts of beef, which we grilled at our table and combined with the varied flavors in the 25 tiny bowls of salads, vegetables, sauces, noodles and mystery items crammed onto our table. I've never had Korean food before, but count me in as a huge fan. Everything was delicious.

We reeked of smoke, marinated meats and pickled vegetables, but decided to stop by a party one of my coworkers was throwing nearby. I was too full to sample the goodies she had out, but Althea and Josh managed to find room for a Sweet Mandy B's cupcake. Yes, it is still Saturday when we get home.

Sunday was a little slower paced. I put the kids in babysitting at Temple and rummaged through the rummage sale, which had been seriously picked over. My only score was a pair of adorable toddler size 4 brown and pink Stride Rite shoes in mint condition for $1. After our morning at the synagogue I took Z to Boo at the Zoo, which was fun until we left. The zoo was giving away Halloween goodie bags at the exit, but Z was so disappointed with the contents that she threw a mini-tantrum. "This bag is dumb! There's no toys in it! There are no treats in it! It's just paper!" And really, she had a point. Aside from a tiny bag of Lemonheads, it was stuffed with coupons and a Fisher-Price toy catalog.

There was also a drop-off birthday party, a trip to the library, laundry, chores and more, but all I want to do now is watch The Amazing Race (which is available online here) and sleep.

Hit the showers, kid

Z's decided she prefers showers to baths, particularly baths that include her little sister hogging the faucet and belly-flopping around like an ill-trained seal. She's pretty independent too, singing, stomping and splashing until I come in and squirt some lavender-scented baby wash on her hand and instruct her to wash herself, "stinky parts first."

I'm fortunate to have a such water babies for kids. Not only does Z enjoy her independent showers, A is crazy for baths as well. For weeks her only bath toys have been a pitcher and a cup, and it's still all I can do to get her clothes and diaper off before she's climbed in and started filling cups, pouring water, drinking it and blowing bubbles.

There's no taking her out until every last drop has drained.

Apparently my blog wasn't taking comments on the day this posted, but I got an interesting email from Kim, who said "I think you have stumbled upon the solution to your cranky mornings with Z! I, too, had cranky mornings with Big T (he's 10) until we began starting each day with a shower. The warm water spray seems to revive him and his good humor and we actually enjoy breakfast and the ready-for-school routine. This wisdom was passed along to me by another Mom. You might try sending her to the shower first thing. Good luck!"

Day one of the M2Moms Conference: who we're NOT marketing to

Everyone's marketing to moms, but three key groups of mothers are being ignored: moms of special needs kids, second-time moms and grandmas.

Nadine Vogel of Springboard Consulting emphasized that reaching mothers of special needs kids requires sensitivity and etiquette (i.e. don't kneel or stand when you're talking to someone in a wheelchair; sit down next to them), but they're fiercely loyal to the companies that reach out to them with solutions and communications that demonstrate compassion and an understanding of their and their children's particular needs. She was followed by Gianna Locasto, Sephora's Director of Store Marketing, who shared with us the beauty emporium's outreach to the disabled community. They gave the moms of special needs kids some much deserved pampering and treated disabled teens and adults to make-up lessons and beauty consultations in a private, supportive environment. What they got, in addition to the warm fuzzies, was new, loyal customers.

Norma Blatto of American Baby talked about second-time moms. Even though they're spending big bucks on cars, home improvements, home electronics and additional baby gear (double strollers, clothes for a child of a different gender) and their established status in the mommy community means they're responsible for generating a lot of word of mouth, most brands are so wrapped up in their efforts to reach the first-time mom that they miss out on the opportunity to make a connection with this bigger community of women pregnant for the second, third or fourth time.

The award for most memorable speaker of the day (at least in my book) goes to Jerry Shereshewsky. The CEO of Grandparents.com, he made the point (which I can anecdotally support) that today's Boomer grandmas and grandpas are healthy, wealthy and very generous with their grandkids. They're funding 529 college savings plans and helping their children furnish nurseries and buy clothes for the babies. Not only that, they're buying high chairs, pack n plays (even Wiis!) for their own homes to make the grandkids feel welcome. Yet aside from a handful of companies who are embracing this demographic (one standout example was Pepsi, who encouraged Grandparents.com members to give their free Pepsi song downloads to their grandkids) -- most marketers leave this group to the drug manufacturers. And that's a shame since, unlike Gen X and Gen Y moms, they're easy to connect with: just address them as grandparents.

Methinks she's not a morning person

Z's taken to waking up with a growl. The kind of whiny growl you might expect to hear from an unfed lion cub. This guttural noise is accompanied by squinty glares, put-upon flops from one side of her bed to the next and pointy grunts that I'm supposed to translate to "I'm cold. Get me something with long sleeves. Nooooo, not a sweater!!! A long-sleeved pajama top. Not that one!!! Now put it on me because I've lost the ability to move my limbs overnight."

Demanding that she frame her requests in clear English (preferably preceded by "please") transforms the angry lion cub into something far worse: an incoherent, inconsolable pillow-soaker. If I close the door so that my eardrums don't split and I don't lose my temper, she ratchets it up a notch, hyperventilating and hiccuping her misery. Over what, exactly? That never becomes clear. Perhaps waking up to the sounds of me dressing her sister in the next room awakens the green-eyed monster within ("Mommy's spending time with my little sister instead of me. And it's not fair!!!)

After 5 minutes of howling (and a sharp rebuke from Josh that only accelerates her tantrum) I go back in, give her a hug and help her into a long-sleeved pajama top. She skulks around upstairs while I shower (baby sister and Daddy are downstairs having breakfast), and by the time we come down she's totally fine.

If this is what wake-up time's like for an almost 4-year-old, I can't wait to see what the morning rush will bring when she's 14.

The Leapfrog Party. Or, how I lost my purse and still made out like a bandit

Being a blogger has its perks, but I've never been as blown away by corporate generosity and thoughtfulness as I was yesterday at the Leapfrog party hosted for Chicago Moms Blog contributors.

To crib from the Passover seder, had they invited our kids over to run riot in a KinderCare indoor playground but not painted faces, that would have been enough.

If they'd painted faces, but not hired a caricature artist to draw their faces, that would have been enough.

If they had hired a caricature artist but not served us pizza and salads, brought in developmental experts to talk with us about choosing toys for our kids, let us schmooze with our bloggy friends and interact with all of their electronic playthings, that would have been enough.

But we got all that an an armful of toys to take home! Z added two new books to her Tag Reader collection and our beloved Fridge Farm now has neighbors, the FridgeTalk Wordplay Recorder and the FridgePhonics Magnetic Set (which we had borrowed from a neighbor years ago but had to return). Plus, Z asked one of the representatives from Leapfrog to send her a pink Leapster2, the Gameboy-like handheld you see her playing with in the photo.

Yes, that's my child using a stylus. And I don't mind. You see, there was some spirited discussion among the moms about the appropriateness of electronic learning toys. In general, the moms of younger kids fell into the "all wood, Montessori or Waldorf for my child" camp and the moms of older kids threw up their arms and said they'd surrendered to the computer, the Internet and the Wii long ago. Resistance is futile; particularly when you kids reach school age.

I'd like to think I fall somewhere in the middle. Z gets heavy does of hands-on, all-natural learning at her very traditional Montessori school, but as long as she's reading real books, drawing her own pictures and acting out her rich imaginary life with dolls and cardboard boxes, I'm happy to mix things up a bit with an interactive toy that reinforces her critical thinking and phonics skillss. Unlike the Vtech video game system that I dissed for throwing a letter-match challenge over a driving game, the Leapfrog products don't use "educational" as window dressing to make mom feel better about buying her kid a video game. They seem genuinely designed to keep small minds challenged and engaged. And if you don't believe me, check out the online Learning Path, where parents can see how often their kids are playing with toys like the Leapster and Tag reader and how well they're doing on the interactive games and quizzes.

So it was a great party. We had fun and scored toys. But somehow I managed to leave with two kids, two coats, my backpack, my cell phone, my car keys, the Ergo carrier and an armful of
free toys. Leaving behind my purse. Yes, again.

Fortunately one of the lovely ladies from Leapfrog drove my purse to my house (!!!), thrilling Z, who thought she'd come to deliver her Leapster.

If you're in the market for a Leapfrog toy, save $10 on a Leapster 2 or Didj orders of $50 or more. Use code HY8BHPR at the Leapfrog.com checkout before 11/15/2008.

I lost my mind today

Now I may misplace my keys once in a while, but "flake" isn't the first adjective that comes to mind when I'm describing myself to others. That may have to change if the last 24 hours are any indication.

Friday, 7:00pm: I leave my purse at the bar where I'd gathered with coworkers for Happy Hour. I realize, upon reaching the El station 6 blocks away that I'm without CTA card, wallet, cell phone--you know, everything important. I run all the way back to Cleo's and retrieve my bag from the back of a chair.

Saturday, 7:30am: After promising Josh an easy morning, I nod off on the couch while "playing" with the kids in the basement playroom. Don't know why I'm so tired--except that A woke up raring to go at 5. Maybe that had a teensy bit to do with it.

8am-ish: I nap for 20 minutes while Josh, who's taken pity on me, takes the girls to the Farmer's Market. I follow my power nap with a trip over to the local coffee shop where I buy a cup of caffeinated joe (Josh has switched us to 100% decaf at home).

9:30am: In the hustle to get the girls out the door for Z's gymnastics class, I forget my still-warm, mostly full cup of coffee.

1:00pm: After reading Z a book, she proceeds to "read" it back to me. I fall asleep on the couch.

2:00pm: Josh sends me to Target to exchange a couple of items and pick up some necessities. I forget the bag of returns but manage to remember everything on my list, which is impressive at this point.

3:30pm: I change A's diaper before taking the girls to the park, but forget to put a clean diaper on her. This doesn't become clear to me until 5:30, at which point her pants are damp and her onesie has a turd in it.

I'm hoping I'm just a little (make that a lot) off today, but naturally the little hypochondriac on my shoulder keeps whispering "brain tumor!" Of course my absentmindedness of the last 24 hours might in fact be due to my having a lot on my plate right now. Work's busier than it's ever been, our social calendar is packed and I'm trying my best to remember birthday parties, dentist and doctor appointments, nights out with friends, date nights with Josh and which sitter's babysitting when.

My Myers-Briggs results

I am an ENFJ.

ENFJs are the benevolent 'pedagogues' of humanity. They have tremendous charisma by which many are drawn into their nurturant tutelage and/or grand schemes. Many ENFJs have tremendous power to manipulate others with their phenomenal interpersonal skills and unique salesmanship. But it's usually not meant as manipulation -- ENFJs generally believe in their dreams, and see themselves as helpers and enablers, which they usually are.

ENFJs are global learners. They see the big picture. The ENFJs focus is expansive. Some can juggle an amazing number of responsibilities or projects simultaneously. Many ENFJs have tremendous entrepreneurial ability.

You can read more if you click through. I think it's pretty accurate, particularly the part about being somewhat thin-skinned. Those of you who know me well, do you concur?

Take the test yourself here.

15 months old

A, you're more of a toddler and less of a baby with every passing day. Crawling is a mere memory now. You're a multi-tasking marvel on two feet, juggling your sippy cup, snacks, toys and my purse as you careen from room to room.

Your vocabulary includes cat, dog, ball, Mama, Da (Dad), nice, no, yum, nana (banana), agua (water), up, down, nuh (nurse), a (paci) and probably a handful of other words that escape me at this moment. But what you don't utter you certainly understand. For example, if I say "It's bathtime," you pivot away from whatever trouble you were up to (putting toys in the kitchen trash, scribbling on the art table, standing on chairs) and head for the stairs.

Once up, you try to fling yourself into the tub before I remove your clothes and shoes. Then as the bath winds up, I say "Bathtime's over. Ready to get out?" To which you laugh and lie flat in the tub, blowing bubbles in the water. You'll even replace the plug if I fail to stash it out of reach. Did I mention you like water?

Your other loves are Mama (sheesh, are you ever a Mama's girl!) dogs, cats, being outside--particularly at the park and wrestling with your sister. You adore Adriana and Vero, your caregivers at daycare and you'll even ignore me if the grade school-aged boys next door are paying attention to you.

Other milestone updates? We took away your daytime bottles around 13 or 14 months, but we still let you have a paci in the crib, stroller and car. And the big news this week: you've dropped your morning nap and are consolidating your daytime sleep into one big 2 1/2 hour afternoon nap.

Five Guys is coming to Oak Park

Wiping the drool from my chin...

Northern Virginia's very best burger chain isn't just coming to Chicago, they're coming to Oak Park! Five Guys Burgers and Fries is opening a location on Lake Street early next month. No longer will I have to meet my craving for greasy/gourmet burgers, supremely delicious french fries and free shelled peanuts during our once-yearly pilgrimage to Arlington.

And on that note, it's off to the gym for me!

Where Z's going on Monday

This from my almost 4-year-old.

"On Monday, a weekday, me an' Julia are going to Disney World. We're going to sneak out of school and Mrs. B is going to say 'Hey, where did those girls go!' We're going to pack so much stuff! First we're going to buy a big, sharp scary knife and pack our markers, our crayons...so much! We're going to take our great big knife on an airplane and when we get to Disney World we're going to find the Stepmother an' Stepsisters and we're going to put our big knife right in them until they die! We're goin' to rescue Cinderella from their treachery and then we're going to take our markers and scribble 'em out!"

Woot! Whole Foods coupon!

How much to I love WantNot for her timely updates of sales and links to coupon codes? Now she's got a Whole Foods coupon good for $5 off a $25 purchase. Go buy some of their private label goods; just look for the 365 label.

Do I look like a football mom?

I got this in my email box this morning.

Hello Alma,

Football season is here. Your kids are excited. They have their equipment, they've been practicing and now it's game time. One problem: you're kind of fuzzy on the rules of the game. What's the difference between a punt and a kick? Who does what on the field?...

Hello, Shelby! Thanks for reaching out to me. My 14 month old is a real football nut and wow, I'd love to be able to keep up with her on the gridiron, but I have so much trouble remembering the rules of the game! There's just not room for complicated sports rules when I can barely remember how many minutes to bake the Tollhouse cookies.

Now to fair, there are a lot of competent PR folks out there who send me nice, friendly emails about products I happen to have zero interest in (a wearable sleeping bag for adults?); and there are lovely people who set me up with free stuff that my kids and I enjoy and I sing about right here on my blog (which is what they're hoping for). But what's with the lazy agency folks who haven't figured out from--oh, the photos and stories all over my blog--that I'm the mother of little girls.

So I don't want a copy of the football mom's handbook (or, G-d forbid, the hockey mom's). I'm too busy enjoying our free K'NEX Cookie Monster Building Set, Mrs. Goodbee Dollhouse and Aquadoodle (which, incidentally, has been my 1st birthday gift of choice for 3 years running).

My evenings are my own again

I've discovered a silver lining to the dreaded nap-dropping. Now that Z's not sleeping at 1pm, I'm putting her to bed an hour earlier. Which means she's still happy and well-rested (see left) and the house belongs to me and Josh from 7:45 on! Mwahahahah!

Everyone's talking about the economy

It's topic day on the Chicago Moms Blog and its sister sites, and we're talking about the economy. Here's my contribution to the conversation.

The disappearing nap

We're in the Neverland between naps. Our oldest is dropping hers and Baby A, now 14 months, doesn't quite need two, but can't manage to stay awake until 1 for one. Since we headed out to the pumpkin patch before 10am this morning, A fell asleep in the car on the way there. Which meant her afternoon nap was pitifully short. Which means Josh and I have been functioning without a nap break for two straight days.

I'm too tired to blog about my very busy weekend, but suffice it to say it included one pumpkin patch, a stack of homemade pumpkin pancakes, two playgrounds, one playdate, gymnastics, the farmers' market, Freddy's and a double-date at Marion Street Cheese Market.

At the top is a picture of A shouting "Daaaack" at the duck at Children's Farm. Here are some more photos from today...

Where's the good news?

I know our retirement investments are tanking, but I've been saved from knowing exactly how much we've lost because we're in the process of moving our accounts from Merrill Lynch to a new company.

I was dumbfounded for a second (before my blood hit the boiling point) when I read that AIG executives treated themselves to a $440,000 spa retreat after the government floated them $85 billion in taxpayer dollars. That's $200,000 on rooms, more than $150,000 on meals, $23,000 in spa charges and $7,000 on golf. It might seem like tiddlywinks when we're talking about a multi-billion dollar bailout, but that total could buy a lot of gas and groceries for hurting Americans.


The election is less than a month away, and in spite of the economic crisis, a pointless and very expensive war and the rising costs of food, gas, utilities and health insurance, right-wing nutjobs and closet racists are still trying to smear Barack Obama. Who, by the way, struck me as downright Presidential in last night's debate.

And closer to home, Oak Park is in the midst of a crime wave, with armed robberies way up.

Our weekend was jam-packed...

...But wonderful. My mom arrived on Friday morning and by the time she left this morning I'd determined that parenting two is much, much easier with three adults on hand!

We crammed the farmer's market, Z's gymnastics class and Kiddieland into Saturday and visited the Chicago Botanic Garden before spending the evening at a neighborhood BBQ on Sunday. The kids were so wiped out with all the excitement that they slept until 7am! I'm knocking furiously on wood as I type this as I know that by blogging it, it shall no longer be so.

Welcome to Whine Fest

Today at Marketing Mommy we're sampling whines. Red (faced) whines, why whines, everyday whines and the rare corporate whine.

Is it cool to drink at 5:25 am? Because that is when the whining (for dining) began. Fortunately I'm still nursing, so Baby A was able to sip as I slept--in bed. As I showered and dressed, I could tell the kids were dishing out whine with breakfast (not a happy combination), and by the time I'd come downstairs and scrambled my egg, the whining had been drowned out by Josh's 80 proof yell. Like wine and shots, whine and shouts don't mix, and everyone at Whine Fest was cranky and worn out by 8am.

You'd think work would be a welcome respite, but there's plenty of whine to go around here at the office.

I need a beer. And a cupcake.

Even our cats are female

Just so you don't think our art table is a sweatshop for political posters, here's a shot of Z's self-directed art. It's a "lady cat."

Like Silver and Tallulah, come to think of it.