Our last trip to Kiddieland

Since the amusement park is closing in early October, my in-laws were in town and the weather was damn near perfect, we went to Kiddieland on Sunday afternoon. Along with every other family in the greater Chicagoland area. It took Josh half an hour to park, and that was on grass, in an auxiliary parking lot we didn't know existed. We paid full price (well, Josh's parents did) and our tickets didn't even benefit our preschool!

But even with the capacity crowd, we never had to wait more than 10 minutes to get in a car, swing, boat or flying saucer (or enjoy an ice cold free Pepsi). And, at 2 years old, A was finally big enough to enjoy quite a few attractions herself, picking out the car or boat she wanted to ride in by color as she waited to board.

And, like previous trips to Kiddieland, this one was not without great tattoo signings.

She must have been some Grammy
But there's more! Over and over, we ended up with a family composed of a morbidly obese mother, a balding dad in a dark suit and two girls, probably 9 and 10 years old, who were wearing old-fashioned one-piece toddler outfits, complete with matching hats, socks and white gloves. I couldn't stop wondering about them. Did they come straight from church? Are the kids homeschooled and unaware of how out-of-place their too-small clothes are? How does a woman of that size take care of her--ahem--toileting and personal care needs?

Do sweaty gloves help you steer?

Money doesn't grow on trees, but gifts come from Grandma

I'd like to think my kids aren't spoiled, but I'm probably wrong. After all, Grandma and Grandpa arrived for a rare weekend visit today, and after Z had emptied a duffel bag full of new fall clothes from Carter's for her and her sister (but mostly for her), she had the nerve to ask if they'd brought her anything else. Toys, specifically.

Z knows the rules around our house. We only buy stuff that's on sale. Preferably with a coupon.
Presents come at birthdays and Chanukah. And on those occasions we rarely buy them anything ourselves because between family, friends and neighbors, they get plenty. Unbirthday surprises don't come from the toy store, and certainly not by request. But once or twice a month--in the summer, at least--I'll take them "shopping" at yard sales. There, I don't mind dropping a couple of dollars on a new doll, a lacing set or books. I can rationalize it because I'm not bringing any more plastic crap into the world, it's costing me pennies on the dollar and really, it's fun to see my kids so excited about getting something "new."

So do my kids understand that money doesn't grow on trees? Sort of. Z knows I have to go to work to earn the money we spend, and she knows I won't buy something if it's "expensive." But the gimme beast inside her? Alive and well.

This post was inspired by a Parent Bloggers Network blog blast sponsored by Capital One, which is promoting their Moneywise eLearning Tool.

In case you think my children are perfect...

Last night Z threw a fit when, after reading her a story of her choosing (a crappy self-published book about a waltzing grandma that my very own grandmother no doubt purchased from directly the author at her retirement home), I let Daddy take over. I had to call T-Mobile about my Blackberry Curve breaking. Again.

She begged for a made-up story--her favorite part of our nighttime ritual--and Josh promised her he'd make one up. She put her hands over her ears. Because, you know, how can Josh possibly replicate the awesomeness of last night's twisted retelling of Alice in Wonderland?

Screaming commenced. Screaming I could hear all the way down two flights of stairs. Then I heard footsteps. Heavy, stompy man-sounding footsteps coming down the stairs.

"She flipped me off. And I'm pretty sure she knew what she was doing."

I still remember learning about the middle finger. In fact, I'll never forget my first day of kindergarten. My dad asked me what I'd learned on my first day of school, and I carefully folded down all my fingers save one. Daddy was not amused.

I'm not just old, I'm old + 3

The latest Target: Women episode from my favorite funnywoman Sarah Haskins.

Pretty much potty trained

A, drinking water at a restaurant in Iowa. We visited that toilet at least twice.

Now I finally understand pull-up diapers. When Z was being potty trained, it was a parent-led affair. We waited until she was 2 1/2, circled a day on the calendar and called it "no more diapers day." We literally gave away Z's diapers and offered her Princess Pull-Ups only at nap and nighttime. There were tears. There were bribes. There wasn't any turning back.

A, on the other hand, started showing some interest in the potty exactly one month ago, a day after she turned 2. We were at Irazu, remember? Since then, she's been going with more and more regularity. No trip to the park or the pool or someone else's house is complete without a "pee-pee in da potty."

Since our trip to Omaha was chock full of OPP (other people's potties), A only wet her diapers at night. And with all those trips in and out of unfamiliar bathroom stalls, and all that undressing and balancing and redressing, I really learned to appreciate the pull-up diaper. Since we've been home, I think it's fair to say that A's potty trained. She can't pull down her own clothes, pull them back up or reach the sink, but she's got pretty darn good control of her toileting.

But here's the rub: I haven't actually put her in big girl underpants yet. I've shown the dorky hand-me-down training pants to her and she always shakes her head no. Doesn't seem interested. And I'm reluctant to push the issue because I'm just not that excited about cleaning up the eventual accident mess. But the day is coming.

Soon.

The Simon family reunion and road trip

Until I received a save-the-date letter many months ago, I didn't even know I was a Simon. But the leadership of the Omaha Steaks Company, two Simon brothers, organized a large family reunion for all of the decendants of my great-great-great-grandfather Lazar, a Lithuanian Jew who married three--possibly four--times and whose grandchildren moved to the Council Bluffs-Omaha area around 1905. Two of his grandkids, cousins even though the didn't share the same grandmother, married each other and raised my great-grandma May, whom I was named after (I was Alma May before I married).

We just got back from the family reunion, which was a pretty classy affair. Instead of a picnic in the park and matching t-shirts, we were treated to two breakfasts at the Marriott and an after-hours (steak) dinner at the Strategic Air and Space Museum. I got to meet 2nd, 3rd and 4th cousins from California, Boulder, Israel, Virginia, New York, Illinois and Texas--plus a whole lot of Omahans. In fact, it appears I'm related to a sizable chunk of the Omaha Jewish population.

My Aunt Susie put us up in her basement since my mom and Rick were also staying there for the reunion. It was surprisingly comfortable, but my kids never settle down well when we're traveling, so we played musical beds for three nights, exploring every combination of sleeping companions and not sleeping all that well thanks to whining, kicking and A falling out of bed and biting open her lip. I think Josh described sharing a bed with A akin to sleeping with a hot, sweaty, urine-smelling leech, and he's pretty much on the money.

We also learned a few things about long road trips with kids, this being the first time we've driven both kids more than 150 miles from home. Lesson number one: if you've spent 30 minutes pre-packaging healthy-ish snack foods into a grocery sack, you shouldn't leave it on the kitchen counter. Lesson number two: the keys to backseat contentment are snacks, toys, books, The Wiggles, and a 2-screen DVD player. But mostly snacks.

On the way to Omaha we drove slowly, stopping in the Quad Cities to visit a playground along the Mississippi River and overnighting at a hotel with a pool just outside Iowa City. We had the world's largest cinnamon roll at the Machine Shed in Des Moines, which is just outside the entrance to Living History Farms, an amazing site with working farms from early Iowan history and a restored town from 1875. I wish I could have spent all day there instead of 3 hours.


We drove straight home after brunch on Sunday, only stopping to visit the Des Moines Botanical Center and eat a lunch of coal-fired pizzas and salad at Centro. When we were less than an hour from home, we pulled off I-88 in North Aurora. There we stepped into what might be the biggest grocery store I've ever stepped foot into to pick up some basic groceries and put the kids in their pajamas. Seriously, the place was the size of a Home Depot. It took 10 minutes to walk from the entrance to the dairy case. And there were three aisles of breakfast cereal!

More photos from our trip can be seen here.

Midwestern public toilets: here we come!

Our truck in packed with 2 suitcases, 1 pack n play, 1 stroller and some beach towels. To the main cabin, we've added a dozen books, a bag full of My Little Ponies, Happy Meal and Strawberry Shortcake dolls, an iPod full of music, a gajillion snacks and a 2-screen DVD player on loan from friends.

We're hitting the road after lunch. We plan to be in the Quad Cities for dinner and ice cream and Iowa City by bedtime. A should be thrilled. The kid loves using public toilets so much that we may very well hear "I go pee-pee potty!" more than "Are we there yet?"

This is our first road trip with the kids, so pretty please, leave a comment with your best-- or, better yet, worst--road trip memories. I'll have my Blackberry with me in the car, and I promise to read aloud every last word. At least while Josh is driving.

Link to my CBS News segment

In case you missed it, here's the mommyblogger story that ran on CBS 2 Chicago. Blink and you'll miss me.

Welcome Channel 2 viewers

If you're interested in a more in-depth discussion of my views on mommyblogging with integrity, check out these posts:

My CBS News interview: a preview
BlogHer left a bad taste in my mouth (but there was good stuff too)

I've been writing almost daily for 3 years, and the vast majority of my 1000+ posts are not about the politics of blogging. I'm more likely to capture the funny things my kids say and do or write about our family adventures. Here are some examples of more typical topics.

The birds and the bees...over breakfast?
Starved Rock State Park: Maybe next time we'll make it a day trip
I hosted a clothing swap!
From jealousy to fantasy in 8 seconds

Two kinds of births

When it comes to birthing babies, I've done it both ways: super-duper medicalized and the as-crunchy-as-it-gets-in-a-hospital. Both of my babies were breech, and since #1 (Z) didn't turn head-down, I delivered her via a scheduled C-section. Pretty much no one delivers breech babies the old-fashioned way, and as much as I wasn't into the knife, I also wasn't interested in pushing the boundaries of safety only to suffer through a breech delivery.

Anyway, November 5th arrived and with it no labor and no pushing. I just showered, dressed and showed up at the hospital, where they took gave me a nightgown, took my vital signs and wheeled into the OR. Forty-five minutes later: baby!


It wasn't what I wanted, but it was fine. The operation went off without a hitch and my scar is nearly invisible. I endured a rough couple of days in the hospital since I had a bad reaction to the spinal anesthesia and my sleepy newborn lost enough weight that breastfeeding her involved taping formula to my chest for supplemental feedings. Still, a week later I was pushing her stroller around the block and she was nursing like a champ.

When I was pregnant with A, I knew from the start that I'd want a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean). Only my second born also favored the heads-up position. Fortunately an external version got her turned vertex and my midwives gave me the go-ahead to wait for labor to kick in.

A couple of days past my official due date, labor started. My first contraction hit at 9:40pm, just as I was going to bed. I stayed up all night, groaning, rocking on a ball and hugging a huge pile of pillows. At 9am, Josh and Trisha (my doula) accompanied me to the midwives' office, and since I was at 7cm, they waved me on to the hospital. You can read the whole birth story here, but suffice it to say I had enough time left to try every non-pharmaceutical labor enhancer and pain reducer before A finally showed her head--a full day later.


Natural childbirth was everything I'd hoped for and more. A whole lot more. I knew the pain would be intense, but I didn't know it would last. So. Long.

An epidural might have helped me since it might have provided me with enough relief that I could have rested a bit before pushing. But I didn't want an epidural because so many women have said yes to the epidural only to have their labors stall. Stalled labor is treated with Pitocin, and those Pitocin-driven contractions call for more pain relief. Intervention follows intervention and too often ends with a C-section. I'd had a C-section and I didn't want another. Particularly after I'd already done so much of the hard, physical work of labor.

What I'd wished for then was just a little relief--something to help me get through that awful period of transition. Something like the nitrous oxide that got my sister through her labors nearly medication-free. Nitrous is a common pain relief medication for laboring mothers in England and Australia, but it is virtually unknown American birthing centers.

Dr. Mark Sloane, author of Birth Day, advocates for the adoption of nitrous oxide and doulas in the delivery room, describing this country's overwhelming reliance on a single kind of pain relief an "epidural monoculture." I read Birth Day as a part of the Silicon Valley Moms Group Wednesday book club. Head over to my local Chicago Moms Blog tomorrow to a wrap-up of posts inspired by the book.

A few more firsts today

1. Z held her very first lemonade stand today, the first hot and humid day this summer. She only netted two customers and 50¢ since there way pretty much no foot traffic. Z wants to try again tomorrow, when the next block is closing their street for a block sale.
2. Z also has her very first sleepover tonight. I dropped her off at 5:30 and won't see her again until after breakfast.
3. A decided to shed her swim vest (and bikini top) and jump into the pool on her own. I let her go "unda-wawa" each time before grabbing her up and letting her do it "again! again! again!"
4. Not to be outdone, Z took off her water wings and demonstrated her fledgling swimming skills. She can doggypaddle a few feet, something I hope she'll be able to improve this fall when I enroll her in more swimming lessons. I asked the MomMail readership for recommendations and heard good things about the Y and raves for the Concordia University swim program.

Let's go back in time today

How many sartorial tragedies can you find in this 1989 photo of me with my mom and sister? Let's see... I'm wearing loud capri pants, orange socks, fake Keds... and a fanny pack! Fortunately, my sister is showing equally bad taste with her high-waisted acid wash gianto jean shorts and tucked-in beefy-T.

As for Mom's clothes? I'm pretty sure she still has (and wears) both the tee and white pants.

Incidentally, this photo was taken on my first trip to Chicago. Mom and Dad showed us around their alma mater, and we ate lunch at the Med.

Five years later, I would be a first year.

She'll be her own stepmom

Last night, I kissed Josh in front of Z.

Z: "Kiss me, Daddy!" Josh kisses her on the cheek.

Z: "No, on the lips!"

Josh: "Uh, no."

Me: "Daddy kisses me on the lips because we're married, honey."

Z: "Guess who I'm going to marry when I grow up?"

Me: "Who?"

Z: "Daddy!"

Me: "But I'm already married to Daddy."

Z: "Yeah, but when I'm old enough to marry Daddy, you'll be dead!"

This last line was delivered a little too gleefully, if you ask me.

Chicago's lakefront: a 5 hour staycation guide

Yes, Chicago has a lakefront. And yes, I'm embarrassed to admit August arrived before I finally took my family to the beach. Check out our day in the sun over at the Chicago Moms Blog.

From the Chicago Moms Blog:

This past weekend I took my family to the beach. Foster Beach, to be precise. It is the first time this summer that I've taken my family to the beach, and I'm a little embarrassed to admit that the last time my girls dipped their toes in Lake Michigan we were 90 miles away from Chicago--in Michigan!

We left Oak Park at 8:30am for breakfast at Andersonville's Tre Kroner. After washing down our Swedish pancakes, French toast and a Stockholm omelets with goblets of too-weak coffee, we drove east on Foster Avenue to the sprawling Margate Park, named one of the country's best playgrounds by Cookie magazine (although they get the address wrong). My 4 year old loved the imaginary fishing pier and monkey bars while my 24 month old monopolized the truck--which is fortunately equipped with two steering wheels.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, we loaded the stroller up with beach towels and rolled under Lake Shore Drive for the walk south to Foster Beach. We passed families setting up elaborate picnics, couples on blankets and lots and lots of dogs. Which makes sense when you see that the entire north end of the beach is a dedicated dog beach. We abandoned our stroller and shoes just south of the doggie dividing line and headed across the sand, shovels and buckets in hand.

You'd think I'd taken my kids to the Bahamas, they were so excited. Waves to jump in! Sand to squelch! Water to carry! They wore themselves out with delight, working up an appetite for more food.

Lunch was coal-fired pizzas at Spacca Napoli, about 10 minutes away by car. My toddler put away two pieces of Pizza Margherita and acquainted herself with the restaurant's restrooms, which she visited three times in 40 minutes (two pees and a poop, for those who care).

By 1:15 we were on our way back to the western suburbs, two kids dozing off in the backseat. We'd had a morning filled with good food, good fun and zero temper tantrums. If Z hadn't skinned her knee tripping over the curb on the way back to the car, we could have claimed no tears as well. I looked over at my husband as we merged onto the Eisenhower. "That was fun."

"Yes, it really was," he agreed.

A note for fellow suburbanites: One of the great things about Foster Beach that there is plentiful free parking. There's also a parking lot next to Margate Park, right behind the Field House. We had no problems finding street parking within a block of Tre Kroner or Spacca Napoli and both places welcomed our kids.

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.

Playing with the Playmobil port-a-potty

Although my mother would likely disagree on this point, I don't feel like our kids have a whole lot of toys. More than they need, certainly, but it isn't obscene.

There is one kind of toy we've purchased with some frequency, and that is Playmobil. I loved Playmobil sets as a kid, and even as an adult, I take pleasure in setting up the RV or the school house--each complete with lots of tiny, surprising details. Most kids don't take good care of their Playmobil sets, so finding a decent set at a yard sale is pretty rare. Which means we usually get our Playmobil fix from Berwyn's Toy Trains & Models. But even our local Playmobil source didn't stock the now discontinued construction worker/port-a-potty box. So Josh shelled out something like $30 to buy it online. Because we need a Playmobil port-a-potty.

Fortunately, it's been a big hit with both girls. Here's A playing with it. Shhhh...don't tell Z.

Potty Talk from almaklein on Vimeo.

It pays to tweet (the squeaky wheel gets the grease)

If you follow me on Twitter or are friends with me on Facebook, you probably know by now that I endured the flight delay to end all flight delays on Wednesday. I--along with two of my co-workers--was scheduled to depart Chicago's O'Hare airport at 12 noon. We boarded the plane 30 minutes late, sat on the plane for a couple of hours, and then hauled ourselves and our stuff off the plane for another hour or so in the waiting lounge. Then we reboarded the aircraft and sat on the tarmac for 4 hours. That's two feature-length crappy movies! And, while the flight attendant comped our bad red wine, I was willing to pay top dollar for some Lay's Stax salty snacks--if only they had any on board.

At 9:20pm, nearly 9 1/2 hours after our original departure time, United finally took us off the plane for good and canceled our flight.

It sucked, royally. And I used my Blackberry to tweet my growing frustration. I included @UnitedAirlines, the official Twitter ID for United in many of my tweets, and I suspect someone out there was listening, because minutes after my final, frustrated update, I received an email to my personal email address expressing "sincere apologies for the experience you had on Flight 680 on July 29, 2009." Even better, United offered me my choice of make-good gifts. My colleagues, neither of whom made their suffering known to the Twittersphere (is that even a word?), did not receive an email or the promise of a $150 flight credit or 7000 bonus miles.

So there you have it, Twitter-doubters. There's more to micro-blogging than letting people know what you're having for dinner.

7/31/09 @11:02 update: turns out the colleague in First Class, the one who's a super-duper Platinum Double-Plus Rewards Member, also got a credit. A $200 credit. The gal sitting back in Economy with me is furiously penning her letter.

"Money, money, money"

While I never achieved my young dream of being a Solid Gold Dancer, I think this bit of inspired car seat choreography suggests there may be hope for my daughter.

Abba's "Money, money, money" from almaklein on Vimeo.

Z has memorized the lyrics to a LOT of ABBA songs in the past week. Her obsession was kicked off by an unfortunate lapse in judgment on my part. I let her and A watch Mamma Mia!

Still stuck

It probably bears mentioning that I am still at O'Hare at 8:25pm and United has neither canceled this flight nor given us a new takeoff time. This. Is. Hell.

Thursday update: At 9:20pm, United Airlines officially threw in the towel and canceled our 12pm flight. There were no seats on early morning flights to New York, so in addition to losing a day of my life, my business trip is a bust.

I live at O'Hare Airport

My United Airlines flight to NYC was scheduled for noon. It is now 5:15 and we won't be moving a minute before 6:00. I ate a trough of Chili's tortilla chips with salsa for lunch. And some peanut butter pretzels since. My sole sources of "entertainment" are the Economist and my Blackberry. Which, incidentally, is not a very efficient device for typing blog posts.

My CBS News interview: a preview

Last night local CBS News reporter Dorothy Tucker came over to interview me about my thoughts on blogging and the controversy-that-shouldn't-be-a-controversy over transparency and authenticity in the momosphere. She was supposed to arrive at 6:30pm, but got stuck in traffic for an hour.

So at 7:30, when Ms. Tucker and her photographer arrived, A was in bed and Z was tired but determined to be on TV.

So imagine, if you will, this scene. The window A/C unit has been turned off. Bright lights have been set up. I'm positioned at my dining room table, iBook open. Z's on the floor behind the reporter. Ms. Tucker asks me a tough question. I start to answer, trying to be diplomatic but not wishy-washy. Mid-sentence, Z comes over to ask why the camera's not trained on her.

We try again. And again. Each time I try to deliver one of my talking points, my daughter jumps into the picture with an inane request or turns on a loud toy. Then, frustrated that I keep sending her away and asking her to quiet down, she throws a royal temper tantrum.

I pull off my mic and try to comfort her, but she's had a big, long day that included a day camp trip to the zoo, a visit to the pool and two playdates. It's past her bedtime and she's fried. Finally, with my hair frizzing and my lipstick melting off, I deliver her to Dad.

The interview resumes. Honestly, I don't know how I did. I know the soundbites I'd practiced went out the window. I talked a lot, but I felt like I was saying the same thing over and over again. No, I don't begrudge anyone the opportunity to make money off her blog. Yes, I've done the occasional product review myself. No, I don't accept money for posts or positive product reviews. No, I really haven't made any money at all; that's not why I do this. Yes, I feel transparency is crucial. Yes, I support FTC oversight as it will encourage mom bloggers to disclose.

I also spoke about how, as a marketer, I've encouraged companies to embrace mom bloggers. They are a powerful, influential source of word-of-mouth. What worries me is mom bloggers selling out their blog--their own brand if you will--to the highest bidder. I think they're doing a disservice to their readership and themselves.

When Ms. Tucker asked if I trusted any product review blogs, I responded with shout-outs to ZRecommends and Cool Mom Picks, two review blogs that hold themselves to very high standards. Both sites distinguish editorial from advertising and ZRecommends' "keep no stuff" policy is particularly admirable.

The CBS story is scheduled to run on the 10 o'clock news on August 10th.

Genius marketing move by Huggies Wipes

This is what a trip to the Brown Cow looks like with a two year old who insists on having her "own cone" of chocolate ice cream. So I was happy to see Huggies had placed a stack of baby wipe samples at the cash register.

Ah, but look closely. These aren't BABY wipes, they are HUGGIES SUPREME THICK N CLEAN HYPOALLERGENIC wipes. Apparently diaper wipe manufacturers have realized the market for baby wipes isn't going to grow very fast in a land where most moms stop at two children. The key to growing their brand is getting moms of potty-trained kids toting them around. And putting them in an ice cream parlor, where the need to wipe faces and hands is pretty much guaranteed? Freaking genius.

Unfortunately I don't think any stain remover is going to get out the chocolate on A's dress. Ugh.

BlogHer left a bad taste in my mouth (but there was good stuff too)

I attended a BlogHer 09 panel discussion called Sponsored vs. Unsponsored, and one of the moderators asked people to raise their hands if they thought getting paid to write a product review was okay or not. A lot of people voted okay, some weren't sure and I raised my hand for Not. I was the only one.

I spoke my piece, reassuring the filled-to-capacity room that I had nothing against product reviews (hey, I've done a few) or giveaways, but that I felt that basic integrity demands we disclose if a product has been given to us for free. And if a blogger's been paid to write a post or do a giveaway, it should be treated as an ad. Because that's what it is.

Honestly, I thought my feelings were pretty mainstream. Not any more. The women in the room were afraid to post negative reviews. Even posting constructive criticism was avoided. They were terrified of pissing off the PR folks and stopping the flow of goodies. And besides, writing a product review or hosting a giveaway was hard work. They deserved to be compensated for their work on behalf of brands. An interesting argument, but if you're turning yourself into a freelance copywriter, isn't it a little unfair to your readers to post as just another regular, trustworthy mom? I am an advertising copywriter, but I'd never recommend shampoo to a friend without mentioning I work on the account.

Where BlogHer 07 was a kind of geeky gathering of babywearers and girls in horn-rimmed glasses who dreamed of making the jump from blog to book, BlogHer 09 was a chaotic, whorish dance of brands and bloggers. The Expo Hall heaved with activity. Tide brought Tim Gunn. Walmart had Paula Deen. Rick Bayless appeared on behalf of the Pork board. Ronald McDonald, Mr. Potatohead and the Michelin Man posed with women weighed down with bags and bags of swag.

There was the official BlogHer swag bag. Expo Hall swag. Session swag. Party swag. Suite swag. I got a obscene amount of free stuff, and I'm not complaining. I like free stuff. But apparently it brings out the worst in some people. I saw women shove others aside, lunging for more free shit.

And as if the endless free samples, Strawberry Shortcake-sponsored Mommyblogging sessions and Ragu-branded lunch break (I'm sorry, but yuck!) weren't enough, the Blogher09 Twitter stream was just as cluttered with sponsored messages. When a blogger who calls herself Marketing Mommy is fed up, you know it's bad.

Yes, those are D-List Mom Blogger stickers on our table centerpiece

But enough about what I didn't like. Here are my top 9 memories from the past 3 days.

1. Hanging out with fellow D-Lister Sara, who boasted the conference's cutest baby bump.
2. Finally meeting Rookie Mom Whitney in person, after feeling like I've known her since I was pregnant with A. Lunch at Fox & Obel was 100 times more delicious than the Ragu glop I'd eaten the day before.

That's us
3. The Community Keynote. If there was ever any doubt that bloggers are writers, this forum should have put that misconception to rest forever.
4. Hanging out with fellow Chicago Moms Blog writers at the SV Moms party on Thursday.
5. Friday night parties with Jeanne. I let her beat me at a racing game at the EA party at the House of Blues, but I beat her at both drinks consumed and number of items dipped into the chocolate fountain at the Mommy Needs a Cocktail party.
6. Introducing Jeanne to Whitney and the other Rookie Mom, Heather, only to find out that she grew up practically next door to Whitney and went to college with Heather. Small world!
7. Meeting another Alma. I'm 33, and this is the first time I've ever talked to someone who shares my first name.

That's me on the left, Alma on the right
8. Sharing my cache of D-List Mom Blogger stickers with the handful of attendees who were there for themselves and weren't tweeting about their Yummie Tummie tank tops and Lord knows what else.
9. Seeing Liz, Kirsten and Magda in person. These bloggers have integrity. Magda (aka Ask Moxie) performs a public service to parents everywhere and Liz and Kristen know how to work with sponsors and do it in a way that doesn't sacrifice their integrity or voice.
10. Going home every night to Oak Park. From a Thursday late night birthday party for my next door neighbor to Saturday's block party (complete with wading pools, tropical cocktails and a live band), it was refreshing to escape for a check of reality. Heather Spohr closed out the Community Keynote by saying her IRL friends and her bloggy friends are one and the same. I'm not quite there yet.

I'm wearing lipstick to BlogHer

"Mommy, why don't you wear lipstick?"
"Mommy, why don't you wear red lipstick, like Hank's mommy?"
"Mommy, when can I wear lipstick?"

Z's been bugging me about my bare lips for long enough. She's only four, but maybe she has a point. So yesterday, while doing prestige store audits (marketing speak for visiting high end beauty outlets), I tried on some red lipstick.

I was too scared to buy it, but my co-workers were so please with the look one of them gave me a sample tube of Bobbi Brown Red. I think I'm a convert. So look for my bright red lips at BlogHer.

OMG, BlogHer! I finally started getting butterflies in my belly around noon.

3 things that made me smile today

1. I no longer feel like the lone blogger among my real live friends. Vanessa's Workaholic Mama blog is gaining momentum, thanks in no small part to Jeanne's highly bookmarkable guest post, the Cheap Wine Taste Test. I'd be printing this piece out and driving over to Trader Joe's right now if a) I wasn't laughing/choking on wine right this instant and b) they were open this late.

2. I hit the Chicago Sidewalk Sale at Daley Plaza during lunch and scored a new dress and a rockin' wide purple belt from Chicago boutique Michelle Tan. I don't have much in the way of designer clothes in my closet, so it was exciting to buy something that doesn't have an Old Navy, H&M or Ann Taylor Loft tag in it. And the best part? Since everything was super marked down, I spent less than $100 total.

3. A sushi restaurant opened a block and a half from my house! I met my friend Gloria, whom I've barely seen in the past few months, for a lovely dinner of soup, sashimi and maki at Sushi Sen (on Oak Park Avenue, between Harrison and Jackson). I'm going to do my damnedest to see that this local restaurant stays in business.

The Whole Foods Cookie Party

A guest post from Mr. Marketing Mommy (Josh)

A while back Alma encouraged me to sign the kids up for the Whole Foods cookie club, a genius marketing move that rewards badge wearers with a free cookie every time they go to Whole Foods. Way to hook them early, right? Usually no one in the store has any idea what I'm talking about, but eventually we make our way to the keeper of the cookie and grab a house-baked chocolate chip to keep Z happy on the way home (and ruin her appetite).

The other day, however, Alma forwarded an email announcing a cookie club decorating party, and while I had the kids set up watching Singin' in the Rain (a great alternative to the usual Disney crap, by the way), I decided, what the heck, I'll bring both of them to Whole Foods to buy a loaf of bread for dinner, and let them decorate some cookies. A, mind you, had more or less skipped her nap, since she slept on the way to the Kohl Children's Museum that morning, so she was pretty wired. First she wanted to ride in the main part of the cart, then the seat, then back in the cart, then walking (and running) through the store by herself (though never far away). By the time we made it to the decorating station, she was pretty amped.

Except that there was no decorating station, at least not where it was supposed to be. A helpful mom let us know that the cookie lady didn't think anyone would show, so was in back scrambling for supplies. Um, ok. So Z and A take their spots at the table along side two other girls much, much older than them and wait as the cookie lady brings out a bunch of supplies, one plate after another. First, coloring books and stickers. Then sprinkles. Then a big batch of sugar cookies and oatmeal raisin cookies. Then, when people told her they were oatmeal raisin and not chocolate chip, a big pile of chocolate chip cookies, too. And then chocolate chips. And then nasty vegan frosting that looked like Vaseline. And then organic gummy bears. Then sour gummy worms. Then giant marshmallows. Then, when she noticed they were giant, little marshmallows, too. Then two big tubs of vanilla and chocolate butter cream snagged from the bakery.

Z was cool, excited about her task, but A went bonkers. With each plate, her eyes got bigger, and she started more or less taking a nibble from everything, one after the other, with me policing as best I could by moving each plate placed before her across the table before she could go totally crazy. Which of course made her crazier, seeing this stuff tantalizingly out of reach. The whole late set up had taken nearly 25 minutes, too, well past the posted start time, so by the time everything was ready to go she was basically ready to go, too. Or at least I was. I told Z to quickly wrap it up (by then her cookies were teetering piles of colorful candy that dwarfed the cookies below) because her sister's head was about to explode. Z can be unreasonable, but I think she recognized it was better to quit while she was ahead, take her cookies and swag, and hit the road.

Needless to say, Z spent all dinner looking forward to the cookies, while A ... totally forgot they existed. Which left more for Alma and I not to eat, because, well, they were pretty gross.

I lost it

Last night I brought the girls back from the Pitchfork Festival around 8pm. Friends of ours (another 4 year old Z and her mom) came back with us and they stopped inside our house to pick up a pair of flip-flops Z wanted to give to her buddy.

In the course of handing off the shoes, Z's friend had an accident. She needed fresh clothes. A t-shirt and undies, at the bare minimum. But apparently a puddle on her floor and the prospect of loaning her clothes unhinged Z completely. Yes, she was tired. Hungry too, although she wouldn't admit it. Whining and foot-dragging wouldn't have surprised me. But a tantrum unlike anything I've seen in about 6 months? That I was not prepared for.

And it was embarrassing. But Z's tantrum didn't stop when our friends left. She screamed and cried and carried on about that damn t-shirt for over an hour. Refusing food. Stomping her feet. Pushing away A, who kept trying to pat her reassuringly. Cursing me with "you're a BAD MOMMY" and other hateful, but completely G-rated slurs.

Finally, my reservoir of patience dried up and I lost it. I yelled--nay, ROARED at her. I snatched her up, carried her into her room, dropped her on her bed and told her to STAY THERE.

My blood was boiling and I lost my shit. There's nothing worse than seeing your kid's eyes change from tired/angry/defiant to scared. And she had ever right to be fearful. I didn't hit her, but if I couldn't stop her ridiculous temper tantrum, I wanted to punish her for putting me through it.

Fortunately, a little separation did us good. I put Z in the bath and put a very tired A to bed. In the time it took to read A one board book and tuck her under her blanket, Z stopped crying. She opened her mouth cooperatively for tooth brushing and flossing and curled up against me as I read her a few bedtime stories.

Either Z realized the error of her ways or she's afraid of unleashing the Mean Mommy, because tonight she was a perfect angel.

It's potty time

The scene: lunch at Irazu

Our star: a newly minted 2 year old who's used a potty exactly twice in her life, both times this week. For pee.

After shunning a bowl of black beans and rice in favor of downing Josh's oatmeal shake and half of the table's tortilla chips, A touched her bum and announced "I go poo-poos. Potty."

I took her to the bathroom. She touched every possible surface on the toilet, finally balancing her tiny bum on the front toilet seat gap.

And she pooped.

Fellow patrons of the Irazu patio at 12:30 today, you probably knew this already as A returned from the restroom singing "I poo-pooed potty! I poo-pooed in da potty!"

Cupcakes rule (yes, A's cheap and easy birthday party was a success)

We came. We sang.

They ate.



And played.

And those threatening clouds behind these water-pistol toting mamas? Fuggetaboutit.

Happy 2nd Birthday, A

Two years ago today I finished 25 hours of labor and met you, my second born. I've treasured your babyhood, not only because you were a good baby, because I was confident you'd be my last. I loved wearing you, nursing you, rocking you and watching you watch your big sister with those big brown eyes.

It's a cliche to say that my love for you has grown as you've grown, but it's true. You were a sweet baby, yes, but you're such a fabulous little kid! I love listening to you talk. Your speaking skills have evolved from caveman-speak to full, 90 percent lucid sentences in a matter of a couple of months. You'll be speaking at Toastmasters events in no time.

You love doll babies and doll baby accessories, Little People, other kids and Caillou. What is it with little kids and Caillou? You get excited about trips to the pool, the park and the zoo, shouting "I ready! Let's go now!"

While your enthusiasm for all things continues to skyrocket (bedtime and diaper changes excepted), your palate has diminished. Instead of eagerly wolfing down whatever is put in front of you, you ask for waffles, pizza, meatballs, bananas and applesauce. And snacks. You would happily subsist on a diet of chips, raisins, Trader Joe's fruit bars and cookies. You see food on my plate and demand "I want dat. Own plate!" only to take a closer look at the food and declare, "No, dat's yucky. No want dat."

You're still a good sleeper, going down between 7 and 7:30 and waking up after 6am. You've surprised us with a couple of pee-pees in the potty this week, but you're more interested in stripping down naked than getting potty trained.

Your favorite books change from week to week, but right now you're a huge fan of Caillou books and the new board books Nanny brought: No No Yes Yes and Binky.

We're celebrating the big 0-2 with a low-key party at a local park. At least, that's the idea. I emailed some friends and neighbors and told them to meet us at the playground to play and eat cupcakes. I'm not planning any games or hiring any entertainers. But as the responses came back I realized I'll need 44 cupcakes. Parents and their 2.5 kids, they add up fast.

Weekend update

In addition to taking Z and her buddy S to Disney's Aladdin at Navy Pier, I...

Went yard saling with the whole family and scored almost-new red Crocs, a vintage Playmobil school set, a windbreaker and a Speedo swimsuit for Z, books for both kids and a never-used snow cone machine. The last item was spotted by Josh, who successfully argued that it was worth more than $5 of enjoyment.

Had the world's best milkshake at Brown Sack. Chocolate-peanut butter, in case you were wondering. And yes, I shared.

Thank G-d for Lactaid pills

Hit Evan's 4th birthday party (see photos below)

Celebrated our 10th anniversary with dinner at Publican. Beer, oysters, mussels, three kinds of pork and a waffle topped with honey butter and figs. It was perfect.

Rearranged Z's room to accommodate the wardrobe our neighbors gave us. Since her room doesn't have a closet this is a major WIN.

Hit the weekly free concert at Scoville Park, where sunshine and mild temps attracted a huge crowd of people we knew from the neighborhood, Z's preschool and Temple.

Review: Disney's Aladdin at the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre

I hate Navy Pier. If it weren't for Chicago Public Radio, the Chicago Children's Museum and the Chicago Shakespeare Theater, I'd be perfectly happy never venturing to the land of overpriced hot dogs, ice cream, tour boat rides and tourist-trappy theme restaurants/fun houses. And the parking--gah! $24 flat rate parking with no grace period. It's fraking highway robbery.

But still, the CST is a very classy joint. And at the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre right now is Disney's Aladdin, a marvelous stage musical that feels much bigger and more spectacular than an 11-person production has any right to.

The show is based on the 1992 animated movie not one of Z's favorite Disney Princess flicks, but one she's seen a couple of times. So she was excited to see it live "with real people." Her friend S, at 5 1/2 a year older than Z, hadn't seen Aladdin before, but she was an experienced theatre-goer.

The show did a good job of keeping the girls entertained and they were able to follow the plot pretty well. Right around the one hour mark S started asking if it was almost over and were there any snacks for sale. Fortunately the show is a only 75 minutes from start to finish--just about as long as two kindergarteners can sit still and stay (mostly) quiet.

I, on the other hand, probably enjoyed the show even more than Z and S. Yes, I loved it. I admit it. It isn't high art, but features a top-notch cast, beautiful sets and costumes and some great (if not-over-the-top) special effects. Hint: magic carpet ride.

I was a little disappointed that the orchestra was hidden away back stage (I thought at first that they were singing along with prerecorded music). But that's pretty much my only gripe. I can't even complain too much about the parking fees because the Chicago Shakespeare Theater offers patrons a 40 percent discount.

We followed the performance up with $5 strawberry sorbet cones and a little people-watching. Z didn't like the chunks of fruit in hers, so I ate it and bought her a $4 jumbo hot dog, which she enjoyed despite the poppy seed bun. You'd never know our economy was in shambles by the crowds at Navy Pier. It was choked with humanity--thousands of people balancing enormous soft drink cups on strollers filled with sleeping, sunburned toddlers, shouldering Build-A-Bear bags, licking ice cream cones, snarfing cheezy popcorn and cursing at the damned parking garage payment machines.

Disney's Aladdin is at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater through August 30, 2009. Tickets are $18 for children 12 and younger and $23 for adults, but you can save $5 on performances through July 31 when you enter the code BLOG at the CST website.

The cupcake

It all started out innocently enough. A backyard pool party with wading pools, pizza, Capri-Sun and adult beverages.

We sang happy birthday to Evan.

And the cupcakes were passed out. Kids love Jewel cupcakes.

Me, I love it when parties include Jewel cupcakes because they don't tempt me at all.

Nothing quite sets my teeth like the overwhelming sweetness of a frosted Jewel cupcake.

There's always lots of frosting.

Prepared with copious quantities of blue and green food coloring.

Blech. After passing on the cupcakes--all the better to save room for our anniversary dinner at Publican (which was AMAZING)--I hosed off A. And she hosed off her chair. She topped off her chocolate crumb bath with a trip down the inflatable slide and into an overfilled baby pool, where she slipped under the water. Which makes "I go unda-wawa" the phrase of the day; although "happy birthday" is a close second.

7/12/09 update: Food coloring does not appear to be metabolized by the human body. Neon poops. Nuff said.

Happy 10th Anniversary to Us

10 years.
We started careers.
We started a family.
We lost a father, a grandfather and a grandmother.
We've grown up together.
And I trust we'll grow old together, too.

The birds and the bees...over breakfast?

I've heard that when it comes to sex questions, you should be open and honest while not giving your kids more information than they can handle. I get that, but Z caught me a little off-guard this morning when, over a bowl of Cracklin' Oat Bran (which is, incidentally, the BEST cereal on earth and seemingly ONLY available at Super Target), she asked this:

"How does a baby get inside a mommy's tummy?"

"Um, how do you think, Z?"

"I don't know. TELL ME."

"Well, ah, the Daddy puts a seed in there."

"HOW? Does she swallow it?"

Shit. What's the age-appropriate answer for this one? I really, really don't want to go into the tab A fits into slot B discussion. At least not until I've finished my coffee, checked a few books out of the library, and perhaps waited 2 or 3 more years.

"Well, no. She doesn't exactly swallow the seed. You see, when mommies and daddies love each other very much, they sleep in the same bed. And the daddy gives the mommy the seed in the bed."

"HOW?"

"Well, they do a lot of hugging and kissing."

That seemed to satisfy her. For now.

Potty training is on the horizon

Way, way off in the distance. Like seeing the gray silhouette of the Sears Tower from LaGrange. But it's there. This morning I popped A out of her crib and headed to the changing pad for a morning diaper change. She let me take her old--still fairly dry--diaper off, but refused a new one.

"No want diaper! Poo-poo's coming," she said, touching herself on the behind.

"Great, how about you sit on the potty," I replied, flipping open the lid to the potty chair and tossing out the toys stowed inside.

"Noooooo!" she shrieked, and booked her naked butt out of the room. She then tried to close me in her bedroom with a "No, Mommy stay in. Poop's coming!" Big, devilish smile.

I cracked open the door and watched her piss on her feet. I picked her up, midstream, and popped her on the potty. Z was so proud of her sister, "Mommy, Daddy! A peed on the floor and in the potty!" I didn't have the heart to tell her maybe one drop made it in.

Potty training. Just one more reason I'm glad we keep microfiber car-washing rags all over the house. Those puppies can suck up a pee-pee puddle in seconds flat.

You know you're a D-list Mom Blogger if...

We're running on Internet time. This D-List thing has evolved from a comment I made on Self-Made Mom early last week to a post I wrote last Thursday to a full-fledged blog Sara designed over the weekend.

Click on over to see if you qualify for our underachievers club.

Go ahead, rain on my parade

Can you remember a soggier 4th of July weekend?

It drizzled as my daughter and I marched with her preschool in the Oak Park 4th of July parade.

A steady rain fell on a neighborhood block party. Swimsuit-clad kids trembled, blue-lipped and goose-fleshed, as they waited in line for their turn down an inflatable water slide. Adults took shelter on front porches, sipping margaritas and shoveling guacamole onto soggy tortilla chips.

By the time we headed--windshield wipers squeaking--to a barbecue at our friends' house, it was pouring. Buckets and buckets of rain. They'd erected tents in their backyard, but for a couple of hours the rain came down so fast and furious only the children ventured outside.

But finally, around 6pm, the rain stopped. We pigged out on ribs smoked all day, hot dogs, coleslaw, potato salad and rhubarb crisp before saying our goodbyes.

After such a long, wet day, I decided that fireworks might best be enjoyed in high definition, from the comfort of our living room. But as the sky darkened, I couldn't resist. I grabbed my 4 year old daughter and a stroller and pushed her the mile and half to our local high school football field. We arrived just minutes before the first blast lit up the now nearly cloudless sky.

But the rain wasn't quite finished with us. Sunday the 5th was glorious. We spent time in the city, swam at our local pool and picked up Chipotle for a picnic at Scoville Park.

But the country-rock cover band had only played two songs before the sky opened up again. So we all fled to the Brown Cow Ice Cream Parlor, soaked to the bone.

Z's latest family portrait

From left to right: Z, little sister A, Mommy and Daddy. Z and I are wearing crowns.
In the sky, a dozen yellow birds, the sun and a flying dog. He's wearing a cape.

Fourth of July weekend

A parade. A block party. A barbecue. Fireworks. Brunch at the Signature Room on the 95th. Two too-cold visits to the pool. And lots and lots of rain.

Noteable quotables from Z

Shouted to me from the bathroom, while I was loading the dishwasher.

"Mommy, how does Stevie Wonder drive a car?"
"Hey, this poop looks just like a pacifier. Come look!"

I'm a D-lister and that's okay

If Heather Armstrong (aka Dooce) is Julia Roberts and Mom 101, White Trash Mom, and Motherhood Uncensored are the Kate Winslet, Gwyneth Paltrow and Angelina Jolies of the mommyblogging world, what am I?

Janeane Garafalo?

I'm no Judy-come-lately to the world of blogging. I've been at this for three years. But like my friend Sara, I haven't done much to grow my blog. I don't network. I don't Digg or kirtsy. I rarely tweet. I'm an f-ing ad creative and my blog doesn't even have a USP.

But BlogHer 2009 and all its attendant anxiety are fast approaching. Should I worry that my blog is largely unchanged since I last went in 2007? That only a handful of bloggers will recognize me? That I still have leftover business cards?

Hell no! I'm embracing my D-list status. I don't get invited on corporate junkets and that's okay. I'm pretty sure my readers would rather hear about my kids than listen to me fawn over a hot dog factory or sing the praises of Jell-O pudding snacks.

Are you a D-lister too? Look for me and Sara at BlogHer this year and we'll get you a button (real and/or virtual). We might even add you to our blogroll at the soon-to-be-launched D-ListBlogger.com.