Australia: Day 2

Day two began for me around 4am. Apparently the jetlag you get from traveling halfway around the world is about the same as that you get from flying from Chicago to LA.

The girls awoke around 5:30 and I promptly dosed Z with some ibuprofen as she had become feverish the evening before. We waited until it was after 6am to head upstairs to Eleanor's flat for breakfast and all eight of us drove to Bondi Beach to see the Sydney Sculpture By the Sea. Z, who was feeling really under the weather, hung out in a stroller and snapped a few pictures with her new camera before falling asleep. After checking out the art and hitting a playground, we drove to Eleanor and Simon's old neighborhood for the Glebe Street Festival. 

The street fest wasn't all that different from a Chicago summer street fest, but their most common festival foods aren't corn dogs, brats and elephant ears--they're Turkish flatbreads stuffed with spinach, feta and spiced ground lamb. Z wouldn't eat--not even pasta with olive oil and parmesan--so we considered taking her to a medical clinic. The threat of a doctor seemed to snap her out of her feverish stupor, and she was playful for the rest of the day--even with a post-medicine temperature about 100 degrees.

How I almost missed my flight to Australia...

I pride myself in being an excellent juggler. I can't literally keep three balls in the air, but I somehow manage working full time, being an involved mother to two little girls, serving as co-president of our Montessori school and studying for my Bat Mitvzah.

So it was inevitable that something would fall through the cracks.

My sister, who lives in Australia, called me at work on Wednesday afternoon.

"Are you all packed and ready to go? Do you leave tonight or tomorrow?" she asked.
"Oh, we don't take off until Friday night," I responded.
"Um, it takes two days to get here and I'm picking you up at the airport on Saturday. Are you sure you leave on Friday? Check your itinerary."

I checked.

Gulp. I leave Thursday. In just over 24 hours! My stomach dropped and I start furiously sending emails--while still talking to my sister, who lives in Australia. Tell husband. Tell the housesitter. Find alternate transportation to the airport. Cancel daughter's haircut. Finish up at work a day ahead of schedule. My multitasking skills shot into overdrive as I tried to figure out how I, planner extraordinaire, could screw up the day of our flight--for a trip I've been planning for 6 months.

Thanks to my sister's phone call, we got out right on time. I can't bear to think about what would have happened if we'd shown up at the airport on Friday.

Originally posted to Chicago Moms Blog

Australia: Day 1

It turns out you can fly for 20 hours with a broken in-flight entertainment system and two small children and still step off the plane with your sanity intact. Z was a champ, sleeping a fair amount on the San Francisco to Sydney leg. A was not an ideal traveling companion, but since I'd pretty much resigned myself to being her entertainer/waitress/disciplinarian, I was neither surprised not particularly disappointed that I only read about 25 pages of my book.

What I was not entirely prepared for was the double-meltdown of extraordinary proportions that had me barely saving bystanders from A's kicking feet in the passport control line. A German couple in front of me looked at me with pity and kindness and urged me to jump to the front of the line. I thanked her and said that if the people in front of me offered, we'd do it. The guy in front of me didn't even turn around. Apparently getting to his luggage 3 minutes ahead of me was worth the hearing loss. 

By the time we'd claimed our luggage and stepped into the customs line, A was calm. Z's bowels, not so much. The customs director took pity on us after I declared our "Cheerios, granola bars, a brownie and a kid who needs a toilet now" and waved us through without an inspection.

Miracle of miracles our jet-lag hasn't been too bad yet. We arrived around 8:30am and A took her regular nap from 1 to 3 (after a trip to the beach and an overpriced fish and chips). If we can make it to 8pm, we'll all turn in together in Eleanor and Simon's spare room. 

Veterans Day

Thank you. Thank you to the servicemen and women who sacrifice so much for so little. And thank you to the families who stay behind, raising children, running households and going to sleep in an empty bed.

Hand-Picked Pumpkin is having a sample sale

A fellow preschool mom, Allison Case, picks up Z every Thursday afternoon and drives her home, saving Josh the insanity of waking A up from her nap, dragging her to the potty and buckling her cranky butt into her car seat for a 15 minute round trip.

I owe Allison, big time.

So I am delighted--ecstatic even--to help spread the word about her sample sale, which is happened tomorrow at her design studio in South Oak Park. Allison created a line of baby and children's clothes called Hand Picked Pumpkin, and while her beautiful, soft knit wares are typically out of my price range, she's discounting sample items 60%. Get a head start on your holiday shopping, feel good about supporting a local business, and a little vicarious thrill from knowing your kids are wearing the same thing as those hip celebrity offspring.

Sample Sale Details

Thursday, November 12th

9am-noon and 5pm-8pm

Sizes 3-6M up to 4T

Cash only

Email me or info@handpickedpumpkin.com for the address.

Photo courtesy of Hand Picked Pumpkin

News flash: A wore a coat!

Putting socks and shoes on A is a challenge, but one we've largely licked by insisting she can't go outside barefoot. Getting the girl to wear a coat...that has proved a little more difficult. But the weather won't be warm enough to let her go without for long, so I was so thankful when our friend Linda loaned us a couple of cute coats her daughter had outgrown.

This morning I asked A to pick one of her "new" coats to wear for the walk to daycare. She selected a purple Hanna Andersson jacket and happily flipped it over her head (Z demonstrated the preschooler trick). She even let me zip it up! Then A marched the two doors down the block proudly singing "my NEW purple coat is a PRESENT from Belly!"

This Is Me Journal: a perfect first diary

One of the gifts I bought for Z for her 5th birthday was a This Is Me journal, a first diary/slambook that uses a lot of questions and prompts to encourage early reader/writers to express themselves. As any reader of this blog (or real-life friend) knows, Z's a very advanced reader. She has a lot fewer opportunities for creative writing and expression, so I thought this would be the perfect first diary.

I'm love reading Z's thoughts, learning that she'd like to grow up to be an "art teacher" because "it is fun" and live in "a hose" because "it is nicer." Her Halloween entry said she was "a vampir" and her favorite candy is "Hrshes."

Here's her first story.

You can save $5 on a This Is Me journal order with the code "november."

A practically perfect morning at the Morton Arboretum

Although A cried halfway through the trip out west because she "don' wanna take a car--take a stroller," once she dried her tears and popped in her paci, we had a wonderful morning outdoors in the 70 degree (!) weather. We met up with two families we've become friends with through Z's preschool and ended up bumping another preschool family and some old neighbors. It seemed half of Oak Park was out at the Arboretum. The kids played together beautifully, climbing through the treehouses and munching their way through each other snacks.

We finished our morning with lunch at Katy's Dumpling House, and as we drove home, windows down and A drifting off to sleep, I felt so, so lucky. Fresh air and time spent with good friends--it was exactly what I needed.

A report from the "almost sleepover"

Although it was neither relaxing nor a moment too short, I'm going to count Z's 5th birthday party a success. 10 little girls, aged 4 1/2 to almost 6 joined our girls for Freddy's Pizza, cupcakes from Soirees and Sweets (a local business that delivers gourmet cupcakes to your door for about $20 a dozen), a Princess movie sing-a-long and crafts. Pajamas were worn, sleeping bags unrolled and piled on top of each other and each kid got to decorate a pillowcase with fabric markers and a foam door hanger with her name and sparkly stickers.

A couple of the girls stood out as obvious trouble-makers--trying to exclude others and sneak off to unsupervised areas of the house, but the vast majority of the attendees were sweet as can be. Z's lucky to go to school with such a great group of girls. (And I'm lucky to count their parents among my friends!)

Incidentally, it is entirely possible that little A had more fun than anyone at the party--Z included. She was in her element, showing off her thrice handed-down Princess jammies, crawling inside the big girls' sleeping bags with them and moving from one lap to the next.

Lessons learned for next time:

1) Things move fast. The kids had changed into their jammies, decorated a pillowcase and eaten their pizza slices in the first 30 minutes. I still had 2 hours to fill!

2) I had too many kids and not enough experience as a preschool teacher to organize games. Once one or two alpha girls dropped out, it devolved into chaos. The DVD player transformed maniacs into merely excited kids.

3) It's far better to have too many craft supplies and cupcakes than not enough. Some kids will want to make more or won't be satisfied with their first effort.

4) Choices are not a good thing. Everyone got the same kind of plain cheese pizza, the same flavored water and the same colored pillowcase. The variety of cake plates and cake frosting caused unnecessary shouting.

Happy Birthday Song from almaklein on Vimeo.

Z's 4th birthday party

Z's 3rd birthday party

Z's 2nd birthday party

Rest in Peace, Tallulah

After four and a half years of litter box accidents, hundreds of dollars worth of vet visits, medicine, prescription cat food and behavior modification, we've officially given up on Tallulah.

There aren't really any adoptive families out there for 10 year old cats who poop on the floor, so on the advice of our veterinarian and our local no-kill animal shelter, we had her put down today.

I feel horribly guilty. My cats were my first "kids," and now I've had one killed for misbehaving. But cats aren't kids. The ethics are different.

I'm sad now. Josh is probably even sadder. But we gave Tallulah a good life. And that's what I'll choose to remember.

Happy 5th birthday to you

Dear Z,

I can't believe I'm the mother of a five year old. Five!

It's clear you are not a baby anymore. You're not a toddler. You're barely a preschooler, flourishing as you are in the kindergarten program at Montessori school. You're a kid. A little person. Heck, you'll probably remember being five.

Since turning four, you've learned so much and made me so proud. Since learning to read, you've progressed rapidly to level 3 on those Early Reader books. You love all aspects of school: math, science, geography, culture and art. You're still into fairy tales and princesses, but you're also asking questions (and occasionally jumping to conclusions) about Judaism, history and the natural world. You've learned to swim (although you're still doggie-paddling at this point) and you continue to shine in gymnastics class.

The year ahead is packed with the promise of more firsts. A trip to Australia. Public school. The school bus. Riding a bike without training wheels. Even the possibility of flying unaccompanied to visit grandparents (although I'm not sure I'm ready for that).

You're a model big sister, advocating for A and leading her around the house in elaborate games of pretend. Although you're not a holding hands, huggy kind of kid, you still have an enormous number of friends. Limiting your birthday party invite list was a touchy affair since you wanted to invite all your school friends, neighborhood friends and the kids from your old playgroup. We ended up limiting you to 10 female school friends--all of whom RSVPed yes and are coming to the almost sleepover on Saturday.

But life with you isn't all sunshine and roses. Your smarts, coupled with two parents who never shy away from a debate, mean you try to negotiate for everything (I think I wrote this last year, too). You're moody, and you have a whiny cranky voice that can peel wallpaper off a wall. You've also become more of a picky eater than before--something I honestly didn't think was possible. The whiny, cranky negotiator in you becomes particularly intolerable at bedtime. It's virtually impossible for me to put you to bed without a fight, but you behave much better for Daddy, since he has a zero-tolerance policy for nonsense. Good thing the both of you are enjoying the Lemony Snicket series so much!

More birthday letters

Z at age 4

Z at age 3

Z at age 2

Tee-hee...mama's got treats in store

Tomorrow is Z's birthday, so tonight I wrapped and hid presents around the house and wrote clues for her to follow. I also made Smitten Kitchen's Brown Butter Crispy Treats. Because I love Rice Crispy Treats, brown butter and salt.

Not our regular babysitter

Last night our children were watched for a little over an hour by

a) A 13 year old girl

b) A world-famous fashion blogger

If you guessed a, you'd be correct. Ditto for those of you who chose b.

You see, my Hebrew cantillation class conflicted with a concert Josh was assigned to review, and after striking out three times on babysitters, I emailed my Hebrew teacher and study partner to tell them things were looking bleak with regard to my ability to attend.

My Hebrew teacher--who, by the way, is a Norwegian immigrant and Jew by choice who speaks a dozen languages--volunteered her daughter Tavi.

Tavi, unlike most middle school students, authors a well-regarded style blog and gets flown all over the world for fashion shows, photoshoots and interviews. Here she is in September at Fashion Week. Next month she goes to Toyko.

Kind of makes the $7 I gave her for playing puzzles and putting Z to bed seem like small potatoes.

One Halloween, multiple costume changes

Josh inherited a bag of costumes from a fellow parent at A's Temple Tots class on Friday, which meant Z just had to wear something new for Halloween on Saturday. Did I cry when she decided she didn't want to be a glitter-shedding Disney® Cinderella® yet again? Hell, no!

Here she is for trick or treating, round one. She was so cute and fuzzy in that monkey costume, I kind of wanted to eat her right up!

A promptly stripped off the pirate costume and pulled on the Tinkerbell dress from last week (which, if you recall, replaced the bumble bee costume we'd originally agreed on). Here she is freezing her tushie off with her BFF Stella.

Z unzipped her furry, warm monkey costume because she was self-conscious about the big belly (really? does this need to start now?) and put on the 2T pirate costume previously modeled by her little sister.

Two pirates together. Arrrr!

After an hour of trick or treating through the neighborhood, we had the kids come in for mac and cheese and candy snarfing. They each ate a few pieces, put aside a couple more, and sacrificed the rest to the "Halloween Fairy," who rewarded them with toys from Melissa & Doug. A got a toy birthday cake set and Z a world map puzzle.

I saw these movies and so should you

Since last week, I've seen three movies. This is big news for a mother of two small children who works full time and has taken on co-presidency of her daughter's preschool (which is pretty much a second job, albeit unpaid).

This Is It reminded me that Michael Jackson shouldn't not be remembered as a child-molesting victim of awful plastic surgery, but as a musician, a dancer and an artist. I left the movie teary and inspired.

Paranormal Activity gave me some serious willies. I could have used a little less shaky cam (especially after stuffing myself on tamales, beans and queso fundido at Adriana's daycare Halloween party), but it gave me a good scare. I've found that the less gore there is, more better the thrill I get from a horror movie. And this flick is gore-free. Ack!

The third movie was Food, Inc., which I saw on DVD last night. It reaffirmed my commitment to stay the hell away from fast food and continue buying organic eggs and meat. Makes me extra glad I threw an extra package of local ground beef into my basket at the final farmers market on Saturday.

Kitchen mini-remodel: we're over halfway there!

Before

After

The granite and deep stainless steel undermount sink are by Granite Design. Andy from the Good Handyman is coordinating the work.
Up next: bone white subway tile backsplash, new cabinet pulls, enhanced under cabinet lighting over the sink and some touch-up painting.

The Halloween--er--Harvest Party

After spending weeks announcing to anyone who asked that she was going to be a bumble bee, A pulled an 11th hour costume switch and dug out this Tinkerbell getup from the dress-up box.

Still, as soon as we got to Z's school, A shouted "I'm a scary bumble bee!"

Tink got her face painted and then spilled water down her dress, rendering it too uncomfortable for her to bear. For the last 45 minutes of the event, my youngest was clad in flowery underpants, Crocs with socks and a Dora t-shirt from a friend's box of spare clothes.
Z wore her Cinderella costume, as planned. As did her friend with the same name. Two Zs, two Cinderellas. (Actually, there were at least 3 Disney Cinderellas wandering through the gym.)

And here's Evan, Z's friend since her pre-walking days at daycare, as sweet and photogenic as ever. That kid kisses more babies than your average local politician.

H1N1: The kids got their swine flu shots

Every day I log onto Facebook and see more of my friends (or their kids) have come down with swine flu. But early this week I saw the Oak Park Village (I'm a fan) was taking calls for an H1N1 vaccination clinic for high-risk residents. I called right away and got the girls two of the first 15 slots.



Speaking of vaccinations, this month's Wired cover story has a pretty good cover story called An Epidemic of Fear: How Panicked Parents Skipping Shots Endanger Us All.

Slightly disturbing photographs

Every day I come home to find undressed adult female dolls in arrayed in strange and somewhat compromising positions on the floor.

Completely unrelated, but also in bad taste, I offer you this horrifying marble slab.

Who would choose this and for what room in their house? It was displayed kitty-corner from the dark greenish granite slab we selected for our new countertop, which could be installed as early as next week!

I don't care if you're cute after midnight

Last night was a giant ball of suck.

I am too wiped out to tell you why neither Josh nor I got more than 4 hours of sleep. But, if you were to guess it had something to do with the pumpkin pictured here waking up wiggly and feverish at 1am and not going back to sleep until 8:45, well, you'd be right.

Trader Joe's wine and cookies

It's no secret that I love Trader Joe's. It's our source for all of our basic staples: milk, eggs, yogurt, chicken, cheese, juice, dried fruit and nuts, salad greens and bananas. Oh yeah, and wine. Drinkable, cheap wine.

But oh, this Chariot red wine is something special. Seriously special. As in, it tastes as good--if not better--than any of the pricey wines I've ever had.

And then there are these "double stuf" Maple Leaf cookies, which are the perfect accompaniment to a cup of Trader Joe's Bedtime tea.

Both are limited edition items, so stock up now.

This post is a labor of love. No freebies or financial consideration involved.

Photography by Z

Stuff to do with small children when the pool's closed and it's too cold and wet to hit the park, part 2: hand your 4 year old your digital camera and let her document a walk through the neighborhood. See all her shots here.

I'm bored. Let's sing.

Stuff to do with small children when the pool's closed and it's too cold and wet to hit the park, part 1: Record music videos.

Row, row, row your boat from almaklein on Vimeo.

Giving up on a cat (maybe)

My latest post, about our struggles with Tallulah, is up at the Chicago Moms Blog. Since I wrote it, I had a long conversation with the behavioral therapist at the Anti-Cruelty Society and she brainstormed a few more things we can try (newspaper in her litter box, pheromone spray and a homeopathic anti-anxiety compound, followed by locking her in a small bathroom for a month).

Since the Chicago Moms Blog is being taken down, I've saved my post here as well.

I never in a million years thought I would be writing this. Saying this. Even thinking this. I'm an animal lover. A former foster mom and volunteer at the Anti-Cruelty Society and an adoption coordinator at the Animal Care League.

But here it is: my cat may have to go.

Tallulah is a sweet, personable cat. I fostered her when she was an 8 week old kitten, undernourished and riddled with fleas and worms. We nursed her back to health in the bathroom of our apartment, our first cat growling outside the door.

Needless to say, she never made it to the adoption floor. She formed a congenial relationship with cat #1--more friendly college roomies than BFFs--and seemed to adjust as we moved from a 1-bedroom apartment to a 2-bedroom condo to a 3-bedroom house. She's now 10 years old.

Kids arrived and Tallulah tolerated their clumsy advances more graciously than our other cat. As our firstborn child matured, they formed an enduring bond. So when I hear Z say "Tallulah's my best friend," my heart breaks.

Because as agreeable as this fluffy muted calico can be, she has one habit that makes her existence in our home untenable: She poops outside her box. Daily. Let me tell you, cleaning cat shit up off the floor gets old. Especially after four years.

We've tried everything. Elimination diets featuring super expensive wet food. Elimination diets featuring super expensive dry food. Different kinds of litter. Additional litter boxes. Antibiotics. Enzyme cleaners. Carpet cleaners. We've invested hundreds--probably thousands--of dollars trying to figure out why she's continuing to crap on the floor and cleaning up said floor.

My husband took her to the vet again this week for another round of pricey tests. If once again there's nothing wrong, the next step is exploratory surgery. And there I'm drawing the line. I will not subject my cat (and my bank account) to a surgeon's knife with no guarantee of answers or a cure.

So I've placed a call to the Anti-Cruelty Society. The surrender department transfered me to a behavioral therapist and I left her a voice mail. I can only hope she'll find a fix to our problem. Because I never imagined I'd been one of them. A person who gives up her pet.

Random (happy) updates

Tonight I'm hosting a Fall Clothing Swap. You may recall I did this for the first time back in the Spring and it was a roaring success. Should be even more fun now that a) I know what I'm doing and b) I'm bringing in a woman to do mani-pedis! Now before you think I've gone all Hollywood starlet on you, I'm not paying for people to get their nails done--but $30 for both when all your shopping and drinking is free is a damned good deal, and my friends seem to recognize that.

Yesterday my agency team (about 60 of us) had an outing/party at the Art Institute's stunning new Modern Wing. I was stuffed from my Bin 36 burger lunch, so I didn't pig out on the cheese and nut platter like I normally would have, but the combination of fine contemporary art and wonderful colleagues made for a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon and evening. I went home all happy, warm and tingly in spite of the wet, cold weather. Happiness equals a few glasses of wine, hearing that one lovely co-worker is pregnant and another is hoping to be soon, and being paid the world's nicest compliment.

Which, in case you were wondering is "You're beautiful." Followed by 5 minutes of expounding and reiterating the hows and ways of your beauty by a tipsy, good-looking gay man who's also a freaking creative genius.

In other awesome news, we're finally replacing our peeling, dull orange laminate countertops with granite, installing a subway tile backsplash and getting a new kitchen sink and faucet.

And I made it to the gym 5 times in the last 2 weeks. That's about 5 times more than I did the entire previous month. I'm on a roll, people!

"Dad's dead."

"Dad's dead."

The opening line of Jonathan Tropper's new novel, This Is Where I Leave You, brought me back 7 years to May of 2002. It was a Saturday morning and I was at home in our apartment in Lincoln Park when the phone rang. I answered it in Josh's office--a small second bedroom cluttered with a deck and wall-to-wall CD shelves.

My mother was on the other line. She was calling me from a satellite phone from a hilltop in Albania. "Joe--Dad--he's dead. We were hiking...I went ahead...He collapsed...I ran back...Chest compressions..."

My father died of a heart attack. He was 55 years old.

The days that followed were a blur. Since Dad was the U.S. Ambassador to Albania and a popular figure in that small Mediterranean country, my mom needed to focus on honoring his memory there. She asked me to help coordinate a memorial service Stateside. A liaison from the State Department would be calling me to help. "Would it be okay if we had it at Dacor-Bacon House?" Mom asked, her voice strained and the connection crackling, "I can't think of anywhere else. Will it ruin your wedding memories?"

I assured her it wouldn't. Her next request was tougher. "Can you call Grandma Marge and the relatives?" Calling my nearly-deaf grandmother to tell her that her beloved son had died was unbelievably hard, but at that moment I was willing to do anything to shoulder some--any--of my mother's pain.

My sister and her fiance flew in from Australia. Friends and relatives gathered in Washington, D.C. My mother proved, once again, she's no shrinking violet. Where others might have collapsed in a heap of tears and sorrow, she showed fierce determination to get. things. done. She located photographs. She donated my dad's clothes. She made speeches and thanked well-wishers. Hell, she was back in the U.S. in less than a week, where she proceeded to buy a car, find a place to live and figure out what the second half of her life might look like.

Unlike the dysfunctional family in Tropper's book, we didn't sit shiva for Dad. He wasn't Jewish, so Mom went ahead and had his remains cremated. Some of them are still in a box in her living room, but thanks in part to my pestering, the rest of Dad's dust rests behind a bronze plaque at a cemetery not far from Mom's house.

This post was inspired by the Silicon Valley Moms Group book club. We each receive a copy of the book selection and write a related blog post (not a review). I haven't exactly finished This Is Where I Leave You, but I'm halfway through and enjoying it--although it reads like an funny/earnest/uncomfortable indie movie script. Think a masculine Rachel Getting Married.

Flu shots!

Josh and I got our flu shots weeks ago at Dominick's and Walgreens, but you can't get a little kid a flu shot at a pharmacy, so it was off to the doctor's office with the girls this morning for immunization against the regular flu. H1N1 gets all the publicity, what with a 14 year old Chicago area girl dying from the disease this week, but those vaccinations aren't available yet.

Both sisters knew they were going in for shots, but I'm not sure A understood exactly what a shot was because, dude, the girl was excited. Here's the evidence, shot on grainy Blackberry video.

Z was calm but a little nervous. And so very brave. She turned away and sucked on her lollipop until the very last moment, when she just about grabbed knocked the needle right out of her thigh. She spilled a few tears, which got A upset and anxious to get the hell away from the nurse, but as soon as we were done and the nurse said "stickers," the A quit crying and headed off to pick out her reward--a Snow White sticker that I had to wear.

All afternoon the girls complained about how much their left legs ached--A more than Z because she refused to take any ibuprofen. A's definitely got a dramatic streak--she limped around half-naked so that anyone and everyone could see her Band-Aid and hear how it came to be: "I went to doctor...got an owie. Dey give me flu shot. In my weg. You see my Band-Aid? I brave. I only cry a widdle while. I got a lollipop."

On a side note, if you haven't gotten your flu shot yet, do it at Walgreens. My agency is responsible for their current flu shot campaign, and I helped out a bit with the winning pitch!

Morning madness

This is pretty much what breakfast time looks like at our house. Finishing your cereal comes in a distant second to playing with your sister. Also, what's up with iMovie trying to make my home movie letterboxed? It chops off their heads!

Z's latest masterpieces

Where's that tranquilizing gun when I need it?

Thursday evening: Stuck at the Cincinnati airport, then stuck on a plane. Then the plane broke and it started to rain. I spent an unscheduled night at the Cincinnati Marriott with no extra clothes, an ill-fitting contact lense and a dwindling supply of tampons. For those keeping track, my luck with United is not improving. Let's hope our upcoming trip to Sydney breaks the curse.

Friday: My morning flight back to Chicago was delayed, again, but I gave myself permission to work from home so I could change into fresh clothes and see the eye doctor. We had friends over for Indian carry-out and all of our kids played well, so that was a plus.

Saturday: Intermittent rain all day and an ongoing weariness from poor sleep on the road means the kids spend 15 hours finding new and creative ways of whining, making noise and invading my personal space and it annoys the hell out of me. They were re-lent-less. By 7pm, Z was all but scaling the walls with cabin fever, so I threw A in the Ergo and put Z on her bike and we went for a walk/ride in the dark, cool drizzle. "I'm getting my ya-yas out," she hollered for the first 4 blocks. By block 5 she was slowing down, and by the time we got home she was ready put on her jammies, brush her teeth and sit down at the dining room table to help me craft her birthday party invitations.

Josh and I tried to convince her to have a party at the local ice cream parlor, where there would be room to invite all her friends, but she opted for a smaller, girls-only "almost sleepover" at our place.

The Nestle Family twitstorm

I've been in the Nati for the past two days, where, in addition to presenting some kickass work and attending a brainstorm with my clients, I've been sampling Skyline Chili and Graeter's ice cream, watching Glee from a giant bathtub at the Cincinnatian Hotel and following the #Nestlefamily twitstorm.

You see, Nestle invited a bunch of parent bloggers to their headquarters for two days. They are far from the first major packaged goods company to invite bloggers in for a little wining and dining. The mom blogger junkets started in earnest with Johnson & Johnson's Camp Baby (which I was invited to but didn't attend back in early 2008), and since then Kraft, Campbell's, General Mills and Frito-Lay have all feted well-known mom bloggers.

As a marketer, I think the mom blogger invitationals are brilliant. For the cost of a few plane tickets, samples and meals, you get hundreds of media mentions and an instant brand ambassador with huge reach. It's a bargain. You also get to focus group these women (and a few men) and find out what's important to them, culling information you can use for product development, advertising and a variety of other purposes.

But what do the mombloggers get out it, aside from a free trip and a chance to hang with friends? Are they building their visibility and personal brand at the cost of being viewed as a sellout? And, in the case of the Nestle invitational, are they shilling for a corporation many view as unethical?

Like most people, I'm aware of the horrors Nestle inflicted in the third world in the 1970s and 80s with its aggressive marketing of infant formula. I saw it with my own eyes when I lived in Pakistan in the late 1980s. But I thought things had changed. Phd in Parenting, in this exhaustive post, claims abuses continue and challenges bloggers to decline Nestle's invitation or at least ask the company some tough questions while there.

For those who complain that mommybloggers are a bunch of navel-gazing ninnies (as some have with regard to the Motrin Moms twitstorm), behold the discussion of Nestle's corporate ethics that emerged on Twitter yesterday under the #nestlefamily hashtag. A few well-meaning moms were raising real questions about global issues to a company that said it wanted to open the channels of communication, but it quickly devolved into a shouting match pitting breastfeeding advocates against defensive formula feeders who perhaps didn't understand that formula feeding can be extremely dangerous in a country where access to safe, clean water isn't guaranteed or where parents might run out of funds for formula and end up watering it down to save money.

Peppered between these posts were silly little tweets from attendees talking up Nesquik, Stouffer's meals and cake mix recipes and psycho crackpots accusing Nestle of supporting infanticide and child labor. It was train wreck, in my opinion.

Shortly after I posted this, friend and fellow Chicago Moms Blogger Kim Moldofsky tweeted me with "I was waiting for the part about what to do next time or lessons learned." I'm not sure I have any real answers. What I do know is that bloggers love attention (I'm no exception). So when a big, multi-national corporation romances us, we get a little weak in the knees. It's easy to get swept off your feet in a flurry of four-star hotel stays, airline tickets and gifts. But take it from someone who knows what's happening on the brand side: don't be a cheap date. Don't tweet and blog free word-of-mouth because you've been wined and dined and you're so very much in love. Do your do diligence (research, ask tough questions, demand better products and service) and then, if you're still the brand's number 1 fan, by all means sing their praises from the rooftops.

Worth reading:

Crunchy Domestic Goddess: Did we learn anything from the Nestle Family Twitter-storm?

Pop Discourse: On Bloggers, Breastfeeding, Formula, Mortality, Change and the Nestle Family Event

Around the world with two small children

Can you guess where we're going in a month and a half? I am so excited about seeing my sister and her family for the first time in over a year! She got pregnant and had her little boy (her second baby) since I saw her last. Heck, Sam will probably be sitting up and eating gruel by the time we get there.

Oh yeah, getting there. That part is going to be not so much fun.

Map by Z

This t-shirt pretty much sums it up, huh?

Toddler t-shirt, $5 at Old Navy

Bring on the anti-vax haters

Fridays are typically slow days on websites and blogs, but nothing brings out the comments on a mommyblog quite like "controversial" posts about breastfeeding and vaccination. Check out my contribution to the conversation at the Chicago Moms Blog, where I'm comparing shots to seatbelts and leave a comment with your take on the issue.

Since the Chicago Moms Blog is being shut down, I'm pasting my post below.

Imagine for a moment you had a friend who doesn't buckle her children into car seats. Her pediatrician is horrified and her daycare provider protested, but your friend just waves away their--and your--concerns. She says sure, seat belts and car seats have saved some lives, but they could also be deadly.They're not fail proof. They're not fully tested. There are recalls all the time. Not only that, they could kill her kids if, say, the car engine catches fire and everyone needs to get out as fast as possible.

You're crazy, you respond. Everyone uses seat belts. It's the law!

Then your friend points out how the government has no business mandating how she raises her children. She needs to trust her motherly instinct instead of some government goon and that instinct knows her kids are safer without seat belts. And besides, she continues, car seats are expensive. They're made by bigcorporations with an eye to maximizing shareholder profits. That whole recommendation not to buy used and replace a car seat after 6 years of use? It's all about making money for the man, man.

To help defend her position, she forwards links to horror stories of kids killed or disfigured while strapped into their car seat. She cites experts--even celebrities--who eschew seatbelts and car seats for their own children.

The next time you head to the garage you pause for a moment before buckling in your own child. Are you doing the right thing?

I'm sure by now you've caught on to this metaphor. And you can probably tell where I fall in the great vaccination debate. The debate that shouldn't even be a debate. Scary anecdotes and a lack of understanding about the science of vaccination and the difference between correlation and causation has a growing number of moms worried about subjecting their kids to shots.

Yes, shots carry risks. So do seat belts. But in both cases, for most children, the risks of going without outweigh the risks of buckling up and vaccinating. If you never get into a high-speed accident, you may never need that seat belt. But the more parents eschew the medical "seat belt" of regular vaccination, the more children will get sick, suffer and die.

The CDC is recommending children between 6 months and 24 years of age get both the regular flu and H1N1 vaccines. Will you get your kids the shots (or mists)?

Photo by D Sharon Pruitt

How far could a smart shopper stretch $1000?

I love, love a good deal. Back in the dark ages, my Mom would clip coupons, scan the grocery store circulars for loss leaders and make dinner from whatever was marked down. She'd spend her weekends driving to three different grocery stores to get all the best deals and insist that any clothing she bought for us kids needed to be marked down at least twice. Clearance rack with a coupon and she'd have approved even the shortest miniskirt.

Her savvy shopping skills were admirable, but a lot of freaking work. As the mother of two small children who works full time, blogs a lot, is studying Hebrew and serving as co-president of the board of her daughter's school, I could totally rationalize Peapoding my grocery list and stocking up on toilet paper, detergent and tampons from Alice. Time is money, and my stay-at-home husband--who does most of the shopping--can't be bothered to bargain shop on his own.

Thanks to the Internet, I don't have to look very hard to score the most amazing deals. Fellow Oak Park mom Carrie Kirby updates Frugalista with the best deals at Chicago area grocery stores and savings codes for local entertainment. She turned me onto Money Saving Mom, a Christian housewife who sees economizing as a call from G-d. If I'm planning a trip to CVS or Walgreens, I'll scan through I Heart Wags or Mommy Snacks first.

I check the Woot sites and the Chicago-specific Groupon for one-day-only discounts on electronics, kids' toys, restaurants and more. If I'm feeling flush or need to buy gifts, I'll browse the online bargains at DealNews. WantNot is another great blog; Mir's alerted me to deals so good I couldn't pass them up--like the time I bought my Dyson vacuum for $249.

There's no denying smart shoppers are out there sharing their wisdom with those of us who want to save big but don't have the time or energy to snoop out all the best deals. It's about time they got recognized--and paid--for their talents! To that end, IRI is sponsoring the Savvy Supermarket Cents YouTube contest, and I--along with Liz Gumbinner and Kristen Chase from Cool Mom Picks--will be judging. Four category winners will receive a $250 gift card to the store of their chosing. One audience favorite will win a $500 gift card, and an overall grand prize winner will get a $1000 gift card. Hurry, the contest ends October 16th.

Never lose control of your interview

How old are you? Four.
What do you do every day? I have breakfast. I go to school. And I come home from school.
What is your favorite part of the day? When you come home from work and you read me stories. And when you tell me a made-up story.
What do you love to do? Art class.
What don't you love to do? I don't like to have pasta.
What are your favorite foods? Mac and cheese and pizza and peas and corn on the cob.
What does Mommy love to do? Hey, I want to ask the questions.
But this is my interview of you. I want to ask you the questions.
Okay, you can ask the questions; I'll just type them into the computer. No, I'm big now. Give me the computer and I'll ask the questions and I'll type in the answers!

Basically, my 4 year old hijacked my interview. Here's a screenshot of her 10 minutes of reportage. Bonus points if you can translate her inventive phonetic spellings to English.

Back on the potty train

Check out my latest Chicago Moms Blog post, Back on the potty train. As you might have gathered from Sunday's rant, this was the weekend of potty accidents. But Monday's a new day, and A's stayed dry so far today.

Too much candy, too little fun

This weekend kind of sucked.

But ever the optimist, I like to accentuate the positive. So I'll start with what was good about the past 2 1/2 days. I hosted a brunch for the staff and board of my daughter's school. That was nice. I love a good bagel with lox and a shmear.

And... that's all I can think of. Josh and I had a stupid fight, both girls suffered bounce house-related injuries (from two different bounce houses, on two different days), and we had some major potty training setbacks.

I'd like to blame A's horrible, no-good behavior this weekend on Rosh Hashana services, which ran long enough to screw up her Saturday nap schedule. But I should probably shoulder some blame for taking her to our neighbor's block party, where she fell out of the bounce house and planted her face on the asphalt, pooped in her underwear (twice) and refused a hot dog (what toddler refuses a hot dog?). I finally brought her home for a make-good meal of carrots and cheese cubes before dragging her, kicking and screaming, through the bathwater on the way to bed.

She got plenty of sleep Saturday night and midday Sunday, but she wet two more pairs of panties before getting back on the potty train. And bedtime was still proceeded by a temper tantrum so out of control it was almost funny. Almost. Major props to Josh who finally calmed her down with a walk in the rain.

And at the risk of sounding like the world's meanest mommy, can I take a moment to bitch about candy? I would like people to stop loading my kids up with sugar. Between the birthday party goody bags and pinatas and the Halloween and Valentine's Day and Christmas treats, I've had it with all the junk. I mean really, do we need to give kids birthday cake and candy? Do stores need to start selling candy corn two months before Halloween and Cadbury Creme eggs in late February? I don't mind a sucker as a reward for a hair cut or an M&M for a poop on the potty--hell, I'll take my kids out for ice cream every couple of weeks (if they eat their dinner), but my ability to make treats special is seriously undermined by the constant proffering of candy.

There, I'm stepping off my soapbox now.
flickr photo by JasonTromm, used under Creative Commons license

Sewed in G-d's image

"Mommy, how does G-d make us?"
"I don't know."
"How do you think he made us?"
"I don't know. G-d is unknowable."
"Oh, I think I know. G-d sewed and sewed and sewed until he made a body and then he whooshed me down to earth. And he checked to make sure his sewing looked like my picture."

See also: Theology from a 4 year old


McCall's image uploaded to Flickr by Embroiderist, used under Creative Commons license.

How my preschooler learned to read

If you've been following my blog for a while, you know Z started to read early--at age 4. She'll be 5 in November and her reading skills improve every day. I'm no expert, but I'm guessing she reads about as well as your average 1st or 2nd grader--level 2 on all those Early Reader/Learn-to-Read books.

It's impressive, seeing preschooler reading so well, and I'm enormously proud of my daughter. But with her accomplishment comes the persistent question: How did you teach your child to read?

The short answer is I didn't, her Montessori teacher taught her to read. Z's been fortunate enough to have a Montessori Directress who's been teaching preschoolers longer than I've been alive, and I've heard the Montessori method reliably teaches children to read before age 5. If you've never stepped foot in a true Montessori classroom, I encourage you to. Phonics, sandpaper letters and letter work help students form the building blocks of language, reading and writing.

And if there's a genetic component, Z won the language arts lottery. Both mom and dad are professional writers, as are both of her aunts and one great-aunt. She's got a former English professor for a grandmother and one of her great-grandfathers was a lifelong newspaperman. We write--and read--a lot.

Which brings me to my next point: books. Our house is filled with books--books we own and dozens more we bring home from the library each week. We read to both our girls from infancy on, and it was clear both girls loved books by about 6 months of age. Starting at 1, Z took board books to bed with her instead of stuffed animals, and she's always loved to stay up past her bedtime with a flashlight and a pile of reading material.

So what did I, as a parent, do to encourage her to read? Aside from enrolling her in the right school and taking her to the library, is there some other secret sauce, some juicy tip I can share with the rest of the world?

Okay, here it is. I spelled a lot. Josh and I spelled words like d-e-s-s-e-r-t, c-o-o-k-i-e, z-o-o and l-i-b-a-r-y when we wanted to make plans without sending the kidlets into a frenzy. Learning to follow along was highly motivating. So motivating that, when we finally gave up and switched to Pig Latin, Z picked it up in a matter of days!

And early on, I chose books with a rhyming structure and asked Z to "read" the final word in each phrase. We played rhyming and "think of a word that starts with X" games in the car. We read books until my mouth was dry and my throat ached. We bought her Tag reader books so she could "read" books alone before she could read books alone. We let her watch SuperWhy and Word World on PBS Kids.

That's it. No great secrets revealed. I think kids learn different skills at different rates, but I don't regret for a minute encouraging early reading. Reading is one of my life's greatest pleasures and the ability to read opens up worlds of adventure.

Rrrroar!

Z kept herself very busy last night creating this monstrous masterpiece.

Toy review: Leapfrog Tag Junior

Leapfrog Tag Junior from almaklein on Vimeo.

I raved about Z's Tag Reader before, so when Leapfrog offered me the opportunity to test-drive their new toddler version of the toy with A, I jumped at the chance.

Like most younger sibs, if Z has it, A wants it. And while A can turn on Z's Tag Reader, her attempts at using it involve stabbing the pen randomly at pages. I'm guessing someone at Leapfrog watched a toddler play with a Tag Reader in just the same fashion, because the Tag Junior works beautifully when whacked against one of the system's board book pages.

In fact, it's a fabulously engineered toy all around: the device is sturdy, intuitive and the ABC Animal Orchestra Book (sold separately) is actually pretty fun.

But, with all that, A never picks this toy. If Z or I bring it out, she's happy to mess around with it, but she'd rather situate herself on the couch with a big pile of board books, pretend to cook us treats or play with her dolls. Electronic games and reading on her own just aren't as appealing to my 25 month old as they are to her 4 1/2 year old big sister.

Laid-back weekend

A trip to the ice cream parlor, in their pajamas, marked the end of a lovely, laid-back weekend. We kicked off the fun at an adults-only party with neighbors Friday night. Our new babysitter, the younger brother of our two previous main sitters, has been working out really well.

Saturday we did a little yard saling and scored two more boxes of Kugelbahnen before I met with new parents at Z's preschool. We had lunch outside at Wishbone and since the kids were a little wound up, we spent a lazy afternoon hanging around the house and the local playground (instead of hitting either Art on Harrison or the Forest Park Ribfest). Saturday night Z and I went to a friend's house for another backyard movie screening.

On Sunday morning we met my cousin and his partner for breakfast at the Medici in Hyde Park, and the afternoon another relaxing one--nothing more than hanging out with neighbors on the street and at the park.

Twitter=faster customer service

Periodically I see a tweet from 6pm.com (basically Zappos outlet) announcing a collection of shoes on sale for some ridiculously low price--$24.95, usually. I clicked on through for one of my favorite brands, Indigo by Clarks, chose a pair of gold flats (pictured, only $21.95 right now) and added a pair of environmentally-friendly hemp and recycled rubber sneakers from Simple.

The shoes arrived quickly and the fits were right on, but half of the rubber appeared to have been shaved off the sole of one of the Simple shoes. Major defect on otherwise adorable kicks! I send a DM (direct, private 140 character message) to 6pm_com:

Just received order and the Simple sneakers, while adorable, are defective. Barely any sole on 1 shoe. Do I still pay to return?

They wrote back quickly, figured out my order number (no idea how they managed that!) and assured me they'd take care of the problem promptly. When they got my voice mail at home, they tweeted me asking for a better contact number. I wrote them my office digits and they called immediately. Net net, I've been credited for the faulty shoes and the shipping and I don't even have to bother returning them!

Per Josh's suggestion, I may take my now free faulty sneaks to our neighborhood shoe troll and see if he can patch up/waterproof the sole.

I've said it before: if you want better customer service, get yourself on Twitter.

Funny sh*t my kids do and say

I've got a mild case of blogger's block, so instead of dazzling you with my thoughts on President Obama's health care speech, the 3 1/2 hour preschool board meeting that I was stuck in during the speech or the fairly tedious projects I'm tackling at work, I'm going to pimp out my cuties. They've got plenty to say.

Z, upon seeing my blow-dried hair this morning, asked, "Why is your hair so straight?"
"Because I got a haircut and the lady who cut it straightened it. Don't you think it looks nice?" I responded.
"I think it hangs in your face."

Minutes later I was trying to get A dressed, and I kid you not, this is what she said. "I wanna wear a costume! I bumble bee costume. Or a pin-sess. Where's my tutu?" After getting her out of the silky slip--my silky slip--she was wearing as a floor-length gown, I finally coaxed her into a sailor dress by claiming it was a sailor costume for boat riding. I can't wait for the Halloween sales to start because this kid loves to dress up.

After breakfast, A caught a glimpse of Z's underwear and realized her big sister had helped herself to her Little Mermaid panties. The newly (nearly) potty trained one threw a fit until Z disrobed and the two girls exchanged underpants. "It's okay, Mommy," Z reassured me, "we pretty much wear the same size."

The final anecdote I was not there to witness, but apparently A saw a squirrel on the back porch and yelled to Josh, "Der's a mouse in da house!"

Her first day of school

No butterflies in this girl's belly. Of course, since this is her third year in the same Montessori classroom, with the same, wonderful Directress, Z's got nothing to worry about.

She is, however, going to be taking a full day of classes instead of "napping" after lunch. She'll be in Morning Montessori in a 3-6 year old classroom and then have two hours of afternoon coursework with the other 5-6 year olds. Yes, she's 4 until November, but she's already reading better than many 1st graders.

To quote Z this morning, "I'm ready for some new lessons!"

Yeah, I'm neglecting my blog

What, you wanted to hear about dinner at Nightwood, ZZ Top at the House of Blues, our various park outings or Charlie's first birthday BBQ?

Tough. I'm too tired.

Here, more pictures.

The President is coming to my high school

President Barack Obama will be speaking at Wakefield High School in Arlington, Virginia next week. I guess we just keep missing each other. I went to college at the U of C, in Hyde Park, before Obama was well known, and now he's visiting the cinder block halls of my old high school.

Me, as a Wakefield HS student

The half-life of friendship

It's usually pretty clear when a romantic relationship is over. Friendships, not so much. My musings on the subject are up today at the Chicago Moms Blog.

Since the Chicago Moms Blog is being shut down, I've pasted my post here:

Like a lot of women, I need friends. My husband completes me in many ways, but my life would have a giant hole in the middle without girlfriends. And since my lifelong best girlfriend hasn't lived within 1000 miles of me since we were both 17, I don't take girlfriends for granted.

After graduation, my college girlfriends moved away. A few years later, I changed jobs and drifted apart from my work girlfriends. I made friends with the women who dated and married my guy friends, but I was lonely for genuine girl-friendship.

Finally, in 2004 we started a family. Now having a baby is good for lots of reasons, but for me, the cherry on top of the cuddles and cuteness was the whole new social network motherhood opened up. For the first time since college, I could strike up a conversation--even exchange phone numbers--with someone I'd met by chance. It seemed "How old is your baby?" was the ultimate pick-up line. And it kept getting better. I made friends at a new moms' support group, at the park, at daycare, in the neighborhood and at baby classes. I made friends with other mom bloggers. I organized a playgroup, took turns planning girls' nights out and just about cried with joy when my still fairly new friends helped my husband plan a surprise 30th birthday party.

We signed our daughter up for preschool and made more friends--people who didn't just have kids the same age as ours, but really great, interesting people whom I would have wanted to know regardless of their family situation.

But as we make new friends, old friendships are fading. I'm seeing less and less of my "original mom friends" and I struggle with that. How much effort do I put into keeping the fires of friendship alive as our children head off to separate schools and find their own, new playmates? If I've planned the last outing or hosted the last dinner, should I wait for a reciprocal invitation, or is keeping in touch from time to time the kinder thing to do?

On the one hand, I don't think there's such a thing as too many friends. On the other, I don't want to expend a lot of energy trying to rev up a friendship that's stalled, especially at the risk of coming off seeming needy. Is it worth it to nurture a previously close friendship if you only see each other every few months? I'd say only time will tell, but hopefully the internet will fill me in a lot faster.

My work is in the news today

For the last few months, I've been working on the marketing activation for Procter and Gamble's U.S. Olympic Team sponsorship, and I'm thrilled to see my work getting mentioned in publications around the company, including the New York Times!

Check out this quote from Sports Business Daily, which calls out the theme line I wrote.

The company will support the deal with advertising on NBC during the '10 Vancouver Games using the theme "Look Like the World is Watching" to promote its beauty products. The theme is designed to draw a parallel between the performance qualities of beauty products like Olay, which can help women look their best, in the same way the performance abilities of Olympians help those athletes look their best before the world. P+G is in final negotiations with a number of female athletes who will be used in the campaign. In addition to the commercials, the company also will activate at retail. Those plans are in development, but Perry said, "We will be loud and proud with the participating brands whether it will be packaging or multi-brand, in-store displays."

Hopefully I'll make it to NYC for an athlete photoshoot later this month. Don't know yet if I'll get to go to the Games in Vancouver, but a girl can hope! Regardless, you'll be seeing my team's work in magazines and stores across the country in February. Have I mentioned how much I love my team? Because I do. I'm really lucky to work with such great, talented people.

Post surgery: day 4

You can find the original surgery post here

Mostly good news to report on the recovery front. I was able to leave my $14.99 aluminum cane at home this morning. I'm able to put much more weight on my right foot and I can walk at a halfway decent pace, albeit with a pronounced limp. I've traded gauze bandages for a giant Band-Aid on the bottom of my foot, which I top with moleskin and a cushiony white sweat sock for comfort. Even though my foot isn't visibly swollen, I can only fit into a sneaker with the laces very loose or my Crocs. Sexy. In a fit of vanity, I tried slipping into a pair of low, comfy heels and one second of downward pressure just about sent me flying into my closet ceiling with pain. Ow-ie. Anyway, it may amuse you to learn that settled on wearing a black gladiator sandal on my left foot and a turquoise Crocs Mary Jane with an athletic sock on my right. Both colors are reflected in the print on my dress. Incidentally, this injury has given me the opportunity to "stress test" sweat socks for cushioning and I'm like to report that the Hanes ankle socks distributed free at the the BlogHer conference are far and away the most comfortable.

As for the wound, it kind of looks like Swiss cheese. Dried out Swiss cheese. I don't much like being able to see the muscle tissue at the bottom (top?) of the holes, but I Can't. Stop. Looking. Good thing I've got the thing wrapped up tight 99 percent of the time.

Z's artwork (an underwater scene)

I love this picture so much, I want to create a t-shirt out of it. (I was inspired by this Rookie Moms post). Only it turns out I need to have Z draw with markers instead of crayons if I get that cool reversed-out effect.

A little surgery to keep things interesting

If you have a plantar wart, take a tip from me and don't ignore it indefinitely. Yes childbirth, a new baby, a second pregnancy, the chaos of two small children and a job change can get in the way of preventative health care, and a little discomfort on the bottom of your foot is awfully easy to ignore (except when you're required to stand or walk for a long time), but let me share the alternative.

Laser surgery. It's a dramatic solution for those now 5 little warties, but it's all but guaranteed to work.

Here's how it went down...

10:00 p.m. yesterday - Enjoyed a last meal of cheese, crackers and wine while watching There Will Be Blood

6-8:30 a.m. - Prepared at least 4 different breakfasts and smelled Josh's coffee, stomach grumbling.

9:15 a.m. - Checked in at the Sameday Surgery center, where I traded my yoga pants and tee for a hospital gown, slippers and something that appeared to be a shower cap made out of a paper napkin. Got hooked up to an IV and signed a sheaf of consent forms without really reading them.

10 a.m. - I walk into the OR, which is just as bright, ice-cold and scary as the place where I had my C-section. As they're strapping me down to the operating table, I briefly consider chickening out. A minute later they put something in my IV to "help me relax" into something called "twilight sleep." I say "But I'm not sleepy" and then next thing I know I'm being awakened in the recovery room.

11 a.m - Twilight sleep my ass; that felt just like general anesthesia. The only difference is I was a lot more with it when woken up. The nurse gives me a snack, and I suck down my cranberry juice and feast on the most delicious four Ritz crackers ever. Then Josh walks in with the girls and Z begins her daylong quest to examine my bandaged foot, which is promptly Velcroed into a gimp shoe.

I've been doing my best to follow doctor's orders and stay off my feet today, but that's hard to do when your husband leaves for a concert at 5:30. It took Z about an hour to realize that it really hurt for me to hobble around meeting her various requests, and she actually starting pitching in and helping me. A--not so much.

A is 25 months old

A is growing by developmental leaps and bounds. Just this week, I've...
Removed all three baby gates from our stairways
Witnessed multiple poops in the potty
Heard her sing snippets of songs
Seen her grasp of colors improve (her favorite color is yellow)
Watched her pick out her own clothes (dresses are preferred/demanded and nothing can be "too tight")
Listened as she "reads" her favorite books

Her personality is coming into focus as well. This morning she accidentally bumped into Z, who acted all put out and injured. So A started chasing Z, chanting "I kiss you! I kiss you! Make better!"

And last night I was in the basement, letting A "cook" for me using her play kitchen. "You hun-gee Mommy? I make you boc-li an stawbries. I cook dem in da oven. Almost ready... Here you plate. Geen plate. Put on your lap. Okay?"

I decided to play a little child psychology. I scrunched up my face into an A-like scowl and threw my play broccoli on the floor.

A did her best to look stern, but her eyes were gleeful as she saw our roles reversed. "No throw food, Mommy! Dat's not nice. Put on plate and eat. No throwing."