The Daily Fuss

Happy Birthday Grandma

When you want a kid to do something (i.e. sing Happy Birthday on camera, they may or may not do it just the way you'd like. It's likely spontaneous and if it happens then "great" if it doesn't "oh well".

When you really really want a kid to do something, there is a chance that you may have been discussing it for several days previous.

There is a distinct possibility that the kid will sense the importance of the aforementioned task and start to act like a nut and/or total weirdo. What would have been a fun and simple task now involves rehearsal, bribery, cajoling and wrangling.

This song for grandma involved many takes, all of which were fun to record and funny to witness. In hindsight, I shouldn't have built it up to be the be-all-end-all of birthday wishes because Leighton was ten kinds of crazy by the time we started recording.

We opened with a "Dear You Grandma" on the blanket. 

 

Once we started to smother little sis, we moved to the couch for another non-traditional rendition where we used little sis as a shyness shield. 

 

Apparently, "sing with enthusiasm" means "sing as loudly as possible".

 

I wanted "one more take" and at this point, Leighton felt she had already delivered several worthy of a Grammy nomination. I told her that Mairin was happy to oblige and that Lei's services were no longer needed. 

 

After thirty seconds of little sis in the spotlight, Lei was ready to give her finale performance. Poor Dinkie, she was not so eager for Lei's return. I will admit, there is a cookie involved as incentive for Leighton, but she would have given it one last go anyway ... for grandma. (She assured me that she was not doing this for my benefit).

 

I had the opportunity to interview my little starlet after her series of tapings.

DF: What did you do this weekend?

LEI: I was at Grandma's house.

DF: What did you do there?

LEI: I don't know. Played with princesses. Got presents.

DF: What does Grandma say about "I don't know."

LEI: Not to say it.

DF: So what did you do with Grandma?

LEI: I don't ... I did the beads. I wasn't good doing beads so I didn't finish the other beads. I played with princesses and princes. I went outside.

DF: What is your favorite thing to do outside?

LEI: Grandma puts my cozy on the swing and I lay on it!

DF: Is that your favorite thing?

LEI: Uh huh. Yes. It is. I love it.

DF: Did you play in the pool?

LEI: Mmm hmm. Yes. There is a water baby there! And we do walkabout.

DF: Did you watch any movies?

LEI: No. Kit Kitteredge didn't work. I had apple juice.

LEI: I want to go back to Grandmas today.

DF: Why do you want to go back?

LEI: Because I love her.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA!

Happy Birthday Grandma!

 

Love,

The Girls

Polite Conversation

As a mother of a five month-old and a two year-old, I am definitely in a place in my life where many of my daily conversations revolve around boobs and poop.

I'm sure one day, Ryan and I will be sitting on the couch enjoying a glass of wine, and one of us will say, "Wow. We haven't talked about boobs and poop in such a long time. I really miss having little kids."

I'm not saying that I don't enjoy having wee ones. I absolutely do. I'm simply commenting on the frequency with which I say those words - "boobs" and "poop" on a daily basis. It's stunning really.

The whole "boobs" talk has everything to do with breastfeeding. They're either sore or exploding or Leighton just jumped on my lap and kneed me in one of them or they don't fit in my shirt or I need to pump while driving my minivan to the city for a meeting while taking a conference call and putting on my makeup. Kidding, of course.

The "boobs" talk will terminate when Mairin turns one year old. I will cry like a baby on that day and I can't really go there mentally, so right now I refuse to take the "boobs" talk for granted. Mairin eats like a champ and has since the day she was born. Many moms and babies struggle with breastfeeding and we don't. So yay for small victories and yay for boobs.

As for the "poop" talk, Leighton has been completely and totally potty trained for a while now. Still, most of the time, she tells us what she's doing on the potty when she's about to do it, is doing it or has already done it.

Lei has no idea that the running commentary on her business is not polite conversation. It's so normal for her to announce to everyone in the room, "I have to poop" - mostly because we've been making such a big deal out of it for some time now. And, because we have no less than eleven books on the subject. When she first started using the potty, we would cheer and clap and call grandmas and grandpas and tell anyone who would listen "Did you know Leighton poops on the potty?"

So yes, of course she believes that our neighbors and friends want to hear about it. They do, or they should, because the fact that my twenty-seven month-old poops on the potty every day without fail is AMAZING.

I am a proud mama. I celebrate the simplest things and tiniest victories - several of which involve poop and boobs today.

What the Fuss? Kinderwagen

We lived in the city for all of Leighton's first year and the Bugaboo Cameleon got us everywhere we needed to be. We didn't use the car much, but the stroller went out with us every day.

I love the Bug. The bassinet is fantastically roomy and I could just pick up and put down my little babe with ease. It turns on a dime, has decent room in the under seat pouch, and has the perfect handle for hanging a bag.

SIGH.

Once Mairin came, I avoided all stroller discussion that culminated in procuring a dually. The last thing I wanted was a Bob or other dual jogger monstrosity. That's so NOT me. I basically wanted a new Bugaboo with a side by side bassinet and toddler seat. Alas, this does not exist.

Or does it?

We bought the Easywalker Duo (EW Duo) at Zulily a few months ago. And we love it for many of the reasons we love the Bug. We were on the fence between silver and red and ultimately chose red because we clearly like to draw attention to ourselves.

The EW Duo has the side by side toddler seat and bassinet (which converts into another toddler seat, or can be used with two bassinets or carseats).

  

Like the Bugaboo: The EW Duo has a ton of room for stuff, it turns on a dime, and it fits through all standard doorways.

Better than the Bugaboo: The EW Duo has loads of pockets and a cleverly designed shade flap that hangs down, tucks up or covers over the bassinet so nobody gets sun in her eyes. And, unlike the Bug, the bassinet pops off and the whole thing folds down with ease.

  
Pricing starts at $599 for the base. The bassinet and carseat adapter are sold separately. We paid $680 for everything on Zulily in April, but now that I have it, use it and love it, it's worth the full price of admission.

Perfect for the city, suburbs or anywhere in between. The Easywalker Duo is one sweet ride.

 

Whelmed

Sometimes it's all about keeping your head above water.

Such was the last two months of my life. I had a major piece of writing due for an industry publication (for my work job) and it's finally done. Completo-finito.

I had mastitis twice in as many weeks and have been super busy with clients.

Ryan's been traveling for a new role he's taken on at work and so it became a struggle for me to so much as brush my teeth on days I didn't have meetings toward the end of my writing ordeal.

The good news is, I've gone from being entirely overwhelmed to just plain old whelmed. Of course, I know "whelmed" isn't a real word, but, I really think it should be. Mostly because "whelmed" is exactly how I feel.

"Whelmed" s the space I'm in when I feel as though I've just opened my eyes for the first time in weeks and allowed myself to see the disaster my house has become. It's not a huge mess disaster, but a disorganization type of disaster. The kind of mess I didn't know I had until I tried to remember the last time I bathed the girls or the dog ... and I can't come up with anything concrete.

I don't know where anything is. Kids' clothes, shoes, sunblock, sunglasses, barbies, teethers, ponytail holders, diapers, mish mashes, chapsticks, loose change and sand fill every every stroller, bag and pocket we own. The cars are trashed and the minivan has a dent from a recent and tragic parking ramp incident in the city.

And, I'm so exhausted, I barely have a care to speedily square away the wreckage. I guess I'd rather spend my spare moments writing about it than cleaning it up.

 Whelmed. There you have it.

 

Anniversorry Part III: Oh Yeah, We Trashed My Parents House in Less Than 24 Hours

I can't discuss our fourth anniversary without mentioning the fact that my parents' house needed professional cleaning from our stay that lasted roughly one day.

Before we left the girls with my parents, we poured ourselves glasses of wine. Ryan set his on the tea table near the couch where Mairin lay. I took off my jacket to change her, and in pulling off my right sleeve, knocked the glass.

It tipped over and spilled on the carpet. I grabbed paper towel to dab, dab, dab and figured the glass must have been nearly empty, as there was far less damage than I feared.

There was one ugly spot several spatter marks, so I headed to the basement to retrieve the Oxy Clean.

SIDEBAR: You should know that I spill a beverage (usually red wine) EVERY SINGLE TIME I visit my parents. It's ridiculous and I feel awful, but it happens and I have no clue why. I spill quite frequently at home too, but I destroy my parents' house more than any other place. And so, this incident did not alarm me in the least.

I was alarmed when I saw the trail of wine dribbles through the kitchen, leading past the powder room, to and up the stairs. What the Fuss?

I yelled up to my dad, "Dad, is your wine glass cracked?" 

"No. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

There were little red drips everywhere and NO FOOTPRINTS. I cleaned up quickly and surprisingly (probably because it was cloudy at that very moment) no one seemed to notice.

We finished our wine, grabbed our bags and kissed our girls goodbye ... Leighton, Mairin and Luella. I bent down to kiss Lue and my lips met a stiff and matted little dog. What?

Why was my teensy pup trembling and why was she rocking bangs like a Milwaukee-bred seventh-grader circa 1989?

Ryan was laughing and wheezing so hard he could hardly get the words out, and it dawned on me (almost as quickly) that our beloved little four-pound Yorkie was the recipient of the contents of that tumbled wine glass.

She stood behind me (as per usual) like a little shadow, when I spilled. And, on a not-so-humorous note, she tracked no less than a billion droplets of vino all about the house.

My mom was rightfully peeved. Fortunately, she had already consumed her glass of wine, which kept her commentary about how "Lue pees all over the house so what's a little wine added to the mix" to a minimum while we skated out the door.

Once we left, Grandpa entertained Leighton while Grandma spent nine, desperate hours trying to feed Mairin. Toys,  bottles, burp cloths, blankets and spitup clothes were surely strewn about until the morning.

The evidence was all but gone when we arrived in the AM. We sat about, marveling at the previous night's events, enjoying coffee and breakfast. Mairin gorged herself on boobie dish to make up for her hunger strike, and we crafted details surrounding Luella's wine-soaked misfortune.

We giggled and snort-laughed and as I put Marinka Dinka over my shoulder for a burp, she launched the entire meal on and over my shoulder into every nook and cranny of the wingback chair, my top, pants and bra. We all sprung into action - handing off baby, pulling out cushions, scrambling for spitty rags, tearing off clothing. It was horrifically silly.

To top it off, I stepped in a puddle of Lue pee on my way to toss my spitty soaked clothes in the laundry while wearing only my underpants and Ryan's overcoat.

Mayhem is the only way to describe it. Me screaming, Ryan laughing, my mom mad at Ryan for laughing, my dad scolding my mom for being mad at Ryan for laughing because "this is what happens when you have dogs and kids" and Leighton seizing the opportunity to stand in the corner and poop her pants without consequence because "pooping on the potty makes me fer-us-ter-a-terd."

Or should I say fer-us-ter-a-turd?

We will let the dust settle before dropping the girls at my parents' house again for a night out. And, someday we will look back on this and laugh. And, oh yeah, today is that day.

Sorry mom.

Anniversorry Part II: Imposters

Given the anticipation created by planning our anniversary celebration, it should not come as a surprise that the events of the evening did NOT transpire as intended.

We arrived at the hotel at 2pm for an early check in. There is nothing better than a toddler and infant-free nap in a freshly cleaned, fancy hotel room. So we ordered lunch up to our lair, enjoyed a Sprecher Amber and Usingers sausage sticks and snoozed. Hard.

In readying for dinner, Ryan tested the rain shower ... complete with translucent glass. Interesting.

Here is a stock photo from the hotel. This shower leaves little to the imagination. One can only hope there are other accommodations for individuals staying with friends or small children or Amish folk.

Honestly, I felt that at this point we were in over our heads - kidding ourselves that we (the proud parents of two teeny tots) could pull off a normal romantic moment or several without laughing at some point, or feeling like a couple of imposters.

Once we were primped and proper, cousin Pete and his fiancee Leah met us for pre-dinner cocktails. They live in Milwaukee, we haven't seen them for a spell and we fully intended to use this time to formally ask them to be Mairin's Godparents. We enjoyed a bottle of wine in our room, then a beer at the hotel bar. And, once my mom called, we forgot to ask them anything.

"Mairin hasn't eaten since you left. I've tried several different bottles, different nipples, different batches of frozen breastmilk and even formula. No dice."

Not wanting to: a) Appear overly concerned; b) Foreshadow the fact that this may ruin the whole night; or c) Fail our plan, I told her to give Mairin Tylenol and cross her fingers.

Ryan was jumpy and sweaty and seemingly paranoid through cocktails and the call from my mom didn't help. We hopped a cab to dinner and the pavlovian effect usually created by the ride to Bacchus was nearly impossible to attain.

Other than spying John Malan (local meteorologist since childhood) at the bar, the twenty minute wait for our table was spent desperately trying NOT to talk about Mairin's appetite over our own. Ryan's jumpiness overpowered the voice of reason in my head that should have assured me both girls would be just fine for the evening.

"I wonder why she's not eating."

"Maybe she's eating now."

"I'm sure everything is fine. This meal is going to be awesome."

"I can't wait."

"Me either."

"Too bad Mairin's not eating her dinner."

"I know, right? It's so strange. Poor baby."

"I think I want the filet."

"Me too."

Tick. Tick. Tick. Drink. Drink. Drink.

Our collective worry must have accelerated our collective metabolic rate because at this point in the evening we had each had two beers and three glasses of wine.

We were seated at our corner table and ordered another glass of wine, small plates and our entrees. I ordered the lobster and Ryan ordered the filet. Of course, there was much discussion surrounding menu choices and how "I will order last" and "what two items can we split" and Ryan doesn't think lobster is "worth it" and I'm all "you have to be joking" and blah blah blah.

"I wonder if Mairin is eating yet," we mused over another glass of wine.

By the time my mom called again, Ryan was still sweaty, I was drunk and our entrees had yet to arrive. Service on this particularly important Saturday was sssloooow - overbooked like a United flight out of O'Hare.

By the time we paid the bill and talked to my mom AGAIN about how Mairin now hadn't eaten in eight hours, we decided that we would take a cab back to my parents' house, feed stubborn Mairin and come back.

By the time we made it back to the hotel, we packed our bags and called the valet to bring the car around.

I looked ridiculous waiting for the car having already changed into my yoga pants and other such Lulu Lemon/Athleta wear. I felt my fraud exposed as the valet held the minivan door for me and I hopped inside - Patagonia bag on my shoulder, bronze stilletos in hand - while hipsters and aging bikers filed into the hotel in appropriate attire for a night out. I tried to pretend we enjoyed a lovely stay (of more than a few hours) and were excited to be on our way home, but the absurdity of it all was apparent.

We were ten blocks out when my mom called yet again to report that, "Mairin is finally eating. She was stubborn and wants her mom, but I finally won. Please go back to the hotel. My God, you sound trashed."

Ryan and I argued for two minutes about what to do and blamed each other for getting so worked up. He told me he was worried because this normally wouldn't have freaked me out and I blamed my freaking out on his profuse perspiration and irritability. It's at this point that he admitted to taking TWO 24-hour Claritin because he didn't want his allergies to "ruin our evening".

Ah well, his intentions were pure.

We went back to the hotel at 11pm, gave our keys to the same valet who helped me out of the car moments earlier, took the gorgeous elevator straight up and went to bed ... defeated.

Dinner at a fabulously slow restaurant - $250. Unsullied hotel room - $400. White gold and diamond locket given by husband as a wedding gift left on the nightstand and "not recovered" by housekeeping - $3150.

Jen and Ryan's fourth anniversary memories - PRICELESS.

Anniversorry Part I: The Game Plan

We were married only four years ago, yet we managed to pack quite a bit of drama into the last fourteen hundred and sixty days.

The blessed nuptials occurred on May 12, 2007.  Shortly thereafter, we closed on the condo, had a miscarriage, renovated the condo, had a baby, bought a house, renovated the house, and had another baby.

No wonder we feel like, "Hey we had Mairin three months ago and have done NOTHING since." Unless you count the scramble to prepare for Leighton's birthday party, the recent slacking is out of character.

Every anniversary, we pull out our wedding photos and discuss the fact that we had the GREATEST WEDDING EVER with nauseating detail. Then we relive our honeymoon in Hawaii and make the same wild claims that it kicked so much ass and we'll NEVER EVER dare take such an extravagant vacation again. By the second glass of wine, it's as if we're arguing with another imaginary couple about who's event was better.

I love anniversaries. SIGH.

This year, we thought it would be brilliant to commemorate another year of wedded bliss by leaving the girls with my parents to spend a romantic evening in downtown Milwaukee. It's a simple plan and, given the fact that Leighton loves her grandparents and Mairin is as pleasant as a baby could be, it should go off without a hitch.

We made a reservation at Bacchus, the restaurant where (after a meal that could only be described as gastronomical perfection) we decided that our rehearsal dinner meal must concocted by their James Beard award-winning executive chef. We have been there since - the food just as amazing and the service still impeccable. Why not play it again?

Ryan booked a room for us at the Iron Horse hotel. It's newish, niche and amazing. The smell of leather and aftershave meets you at the door of this boutique beauty. Deliberately exposed steel, brick and timber are glamorously paired with animal hide, Edison bulbs and Harley paraphenalia.

Here are a smattering of shots. We stayed in a corner suite with the layout in the last picture, which really doesn't do the room justice. I give it two Fussworthy thumbs up.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

We were both so looking forward to our weekend. Work has been stressful, kids add their own brand of busy to the mix, and we needed a night to hang out and reconnect. This was a fancy little plan we could hatch - staying close enough to our babies, but far enough away to focus on each other AND get an uninterrupted night's sleep.

I can't frame up this game plan without mentioning the expectation surrounding the evening in question. Once I had kids, I started to see myself a certain way and I'm not exactly talking about a sexy, independent type-way. I grew accustomed to being covered in spitup, pulling foreign objects from the toilet and uttering the words "poop" or "boobs" several times each day. 

That said, it can be fun to don the hot, bronze, metallic, textured-silk skirt and ruched black fine-wool top that finally fits post-baby and hit the town as my alter ego with my wonderful, handsome husband ... otherwise known as "Daddy".

Mary Poppins Folds My Underpants

Our new nanny started last week. Let's call her "Mary" as her references describe her as no less brilliant than the original umbrella-toting phenomenon, Mary Poppins.

So far, I do not disagree.

Let's also frame up this discussion with a few truisms.

First, I almost completely lack the ability to rely on others for assistance. In fact, I suck at asking for help or even admitting that I need it in the first place.

I also work. I am an attorney. I have a real job that requires my undivided attention from nine to five and beyond. I travel occasionally for this job. I pay the bills, manage our finances, clean our home, employ requisite help, procure necessities for the homestead and do my best not to starve or misplace Luella, our beloved (if not neglected these days) Yorkie. Don't feel too sorry for her. She still gets her dinner at the foot of our bed and sleeps snugly in my right armpit. Every night.

I rarely cook anymore. I leave that to my wonderful husband, without whom I would be much thinner. God bless him.

Still, let it be known that I would do everything if I could. Farm and prepare our food. Develop family photos in a dark room. Fabricate paper from pulp. Build our furniture. Make our soap. I'd consume and morph into Martha Stewart, were it possible. And, for the rest of it ... if it isn't my idea, I probably won't like it or listen to it - not at first anyway.

I'm getting better.

Having Leighton was a serious game-changer – a real kick in the ass, if you will. It took me the better part of two years to learn how to fit work and hobbies back into the rotation, right behind caring for my girl and maintaining a relationship with my husband. All of this just in time to give birth to Mairin – a curveball in her own right.

Mairin threw me a bit. She eats, sleeps, smiles and grows, as a smart and healthy baby should. And then she sleeps and eats and grows some more. She's a perfect little chub-budda, pulling off "ah-goos" and grasping her toys at a mere seven, eight, nine weeks.

Sure Leighton is a wee bit jealous, but she loves her sister. She loves her so much, we can't leave the two alone – even to pee – for fear that we will return to find Mairin on the floor, flailing and being dragged by a teeny limb or two. All in good fun, of course.

My maternity leave ended April 12^th when Mairin was only nine weeks old. I work from home and value the precious moments I can spend throughout the day with my girls. Not to mention the fact that breastfeeding is considerably easier when every meal isn't handled by a pump because I have access to my little diner throughout the day.

Still, I find myself to be incredibly disciplined and able to handle working from the house. I believe my company gets more for their money with me at home … no commute on an office day and happy to be getting down to business. It's quite perfect.

This is where Mary, Ms. Poppins, comes in. I am learning that Mary is an extension of me. She carries out my tasks and cares for my babies with love and respect – all the while considering my needs in the process. She has mentioned that she's there to make my life easier so that Ryan and I can enjoy our girls at the end of the day, instead of tripping over toys, groceries and doggie poo.

She will come to know where the messy cabinets and junk drawers are. She will learn that I toss tinkle diapers off the bed throughout the night because the girls sleep in our family bed. She will judge me a little when I don't scold enough and raise an eyebrow when we have cake for breakfast. She will fold my underpants.

This intimate knowledge of us is imperative. Raising kids is tough stuff and despite the number of procreators on the planet, the system is neither designed for nor is it kind to working parents.

Why must school end at three-ish? Who picks up the kids? Who takes them to practice when they're older? Who makes sure some creep doesn't scoop them into their windowless van? Who helps them with their absurdio amount of homework? And who the hell does the shopping and the laundry?

I need to utilize Mary in every way possible - from entertaining and teaching my girls to handling laundry and running errands for me. I will get there. I swear.

With all of the bitching I'm doing at the moment, I have to wonder: What do the single parents do? I seriously contemplate that several times each day. I observe a moment of silence for those parents – mostly single moms – because this parenting thing is a real mother effer.

I get it. I feel the full weight of that which I carry – the yoke of parenting – the awesome responsibility that comes with preparing little humans to be intelligent, compassionate citizens. And, I know that I need some help throughout the day or we can't raise our girls in the way that suits us best.

So I take deep breath and pledge myself to letting go: I will ask for help when I need it. I will accept help where it is offered. I will remain calm and loving in the face of meltdowns, tantrums, spilled milk and other forms of adversity. And, for the love of all that is good and holy, I will let Mary Poppins fold my underpants.

Turning Two Part I: Party Prep

Leighton turned two last week. I would tell you that it was a slightly amped up version of a regular day, but nothing about this birthday (or the weeks leading up to it) was regular. Amped up ... definitely. Regular ... not so much.

I do everything big. I set lofty goals and get after them. Quitting is not an option. Ryan and I spent the previous several weeks killing ourselves to wrap up some lingering renovation to-do's so that the forty-seven people that RSVPd "yes" to the birthday party we threw on Sunday could see the joint without wondering in earnest why we'd buy such a house in the first place.

Leighton's spring break started friday of the previous week. Apparently, Montessori toddlers need a week long spring break. So, my in-laws thankfully came to help us get ready for the party. They arrived just in time for me to hand the girls over so I could run to the doctor. Joy.

Leighton was already sick and Mairin was looking worse for the wear with each passing moment. It was only fitting that I be stricken with a sinus infection while trying to paint trim, plan the menu, rearrange furniture and clean with T-minus three days to go. I've had a cold since October so when my stuffy nose reached a new level of painful congestion, I knew I needed pharmaceutical assistance.

I felt guilty trying to hurry Leighton off to bed every night so we could continue painting and hanging pictures and doing all of the housey things that needed doing - like I wasn't present in the moment for weeks. And, Ryan was in Canada on business for two days the week of this party. I felt like an even worse parent for not being able to get a toddler and infant to bed simultaneously with my husband out of town. I cried three times and yelled at Leighton for throwing a temper tantrum.

Noteworthy: Picking a fight with a two year-old is entirely ineffective.

I held it together throughout the rest of the week with help from all four grandparents. By Sunday, I could hardly move. I barely had the presence of mind to snap a few pictures. When my mom walked in the door, she got right to work and I became useless. I think I was so relieved when she asked me if she could help put the food out, I just let her take over.

Thirty-five pounds of barbecue, forty-seven guests, sixty cupcakes, a billion presents and one missed nap later, we had hosted a rockin' toddler birthday bash.

It's the kind of fun you almost never want to have again.

Self Evaluation

At three this afternoon, the overall score for the day was nothing short of promising. Most importantly, Leighton's little barely-slept-a-wink self was at school and would most certainly be too pooped to wreak any real toddler havoc when she got home.

I caught up with the laundry, made progress on a legal publication I'm spearheading, finished a post, showered AND dried my hair, made hair and massage appointments, pumped an extra feeding, snapped a few pictures of Mairin, cleaned any messy aspects of the house and remembered to feed Lue and let her out the requisite number of times throughout the day. A few gifts were delivered for Miss Mairin, as well - driving the score even higher.

Ryan returned with Lei shortly thereafter and the circus promptly began. Here are a few things that fall under the auspice of what I like to call "toddler mayhem":

Squeezing little sis around the middle and/or hugging her by the head whilst I'm feeding her - out of love, of course.

Spontaneously bursting into song in an attempt to avoid answering a direct question.

Finishing my sentences incorrectly to suit her needs.

Bedtime battles and temper tantrums - most of which include "the noodle" where she raises her arms above her head and her shoulder blades turn to cartilage and it's impossible to find any place on her to grab hold and successfully pick her up. (How do all kids know how to noodle instincitvely? The phenomenon needs to be studied).

Getting naked for no real reason other than to mess with me.

Putting anything other than potty, in the potty.

Doing artwork anywhere other than on paper while nodding and telling me "paper only" and "keep it on the paper, mama".

AND MY FAVORITE ...

Slapping me (more like controlled flailing as if to say "I'm going to swing my arm around fiercely and you best not get in its way") followed by profuse apologies, patting me on the shoulder or back, caressing my face and telling me that "everything will be okay mommy" in a slightly Munchausen by proxy sort of way.

The list goes grows daily with some new goofiness, but these incidents don't last long and they aren't as frequent as I'm making it seem. Leighton is really a very sweet little girl, it's just that she sprung the mayhem on us suddenly a few weeks ago and it's still throwing a monkey wrench into what was a very happy and well-managed daily routine. She's a toddler and this is totally normal. We get it. I promise. Still, it doesn't make it any less exhausting or hilarious to us.

Tonight, Leighton can add pooping in the bathtub (I think it was more of a gambled-and-lost, toot-confusion situation rather than an act of defiance, but it counts) and needing to wear a tiara to bed to read The Princess and the Pea with babies, silks and blankies strewn about her special sleeping spot to take the daily score down just a smidge.

The real point deduction for the day was all on me. I spilled several ounces of freshly pumped sweet juice all over the dining room table and on to the floor. What a MAJOR EFFING DISAPPOINTMENT. If this were my first baby, I would have been inconsolable for at least an hour. But, I'm over it.

The daily tally buoyied again late in the day. By 7:39pm, everyone was fed, and everyone under the age of two was asleep. At this point, the television remains off and Ryan just opened a bottle of red. There will most definitely be few spitups, wakeups, feedings and trips to the potty over the next several hours. But overall, I'm pleased with our team's performance.

I give us a solid 10.

Awesome Foursome (and a little dog too)

So little sis was born just AFTER the biggest blizzard in the history of Chicago weather situations since at least 1967, if not EVER. We left the Marriott downtown at 3pm on February 2nd, only to make the chilly, unplowed, white out, nary-another-car-on-the-road return trip at 1am. Figures.

Although I was (once again) hoping for an annoyingly uneventful labor and delivery ... it  simply wasn't to be. Well, the labor part anyway.

Due to the outrageous and unrelenting dumping of snow the day before, inductions, c-sections and various other surgeries had been postponed. No one was available for break my water for five hours after I caved on the epidural. How annoying.

Still, it was worth it in the end. By 7:44pm, after insisting someone check me again, it only took two pushes, 180 seconds and NO STITCHES to meet the littlest Freeman.  I fully consider this a pleasant alternative to the 90 minutes of pushing and painstaking needlepoint involved in delivering Leighton.

Mairin Isabel was born at 7:45pm with a full head of shiny, black hair (no real clue where that comes from), big sister's giraffe eyelashes and a dimple in her chin to match both mommy and Leighton. She was just too cute, right away.

Leighton was super pumped to meet little sis for the first time and never misses a chance to kiss her and hug her and tell her just how much she loves her. Sometimes, she loves her a little too "hard" but we've learned to manage the hard lovin' to some degree. If we can't lock it down completely, Mairin might need a helmet - at least until the soft spot closes up.

Luella didn't seem to need much of an adjustment this time. She's relatively chill and actually appears to love the newest member of our squad - most likely because she has witnessed, first hand, how rambunctions these sweet little people can become over the course of twenty-two months.

In this house, the infant is the easy one. Mairin is a sleeper, which feels crazy to us. We keep checking to make sure she's okay. Lei needed constant entertainment and sleep management - she still does to some degree. A sleepy baby is so completely different than the toddler who WON'T GO TO BED.

In fact, Lei's recent behavioral outbursts have risen to a level of toddler mayhem so cleverly calculated that they seem unlikely to have come from said toddler. Last night, she managed to fight sleep until 1am by bargaining for drinks, trips to the potty, crying, screaming, flailing and pulling random stunts. I was ready to poke my own eyes out by 12:45am, but am happy to report that last night's shenanigans seem but a distant memory at this point.

In fact, Ryan and I are enjoying a few blissed-out, mommy/daddy moments of simultaneous maternity and paternity leave with Mairin sleepily cooing in the living room bassinet as we blog and google our way through the next thirty minutes until it's time to pick Big Sis up from school.

What happens after that is anyone's guess, but I'm guessing you'll hear about it tomorrow.

Mee-Nee-Ban

You may recall the consternation caused by our family's need for a new car that fits a tall dad, picky mom and two tiny chicks in car seats. 

I was so irritated by the whole, preliminary, car shopping ordeal that I went into denial about it and was such a waddling whiner at every dealership we entered that I left it to Ryan to boil the options down to two before I got involved.

He actually banned me from joining him at one point - no lie.

Ryan was online, every night, checking specs and consumer reports and message boards and blogs, desperately wanting to avoid the minivan at all costs.

When he came to me with the inevitable "Odyssey-or-Sienna" final decision, I didn't say "told-you-so". I just said, "I'm fine with either one." Admittedly, on the inside, it was more of a "WOO HOO! We're gittin' a minivan." Or, as Leighton calls it, her "Mee-Nee-Ban." It's like she's put a cute little Cuban spin on it.

Only the minivan can do what this family needs a vehicle to do. We need sliding side doors, room for two car seats (or five if need be), third row, remote ignition, back up camera, USB hookup, blue tooth, a zillion airbags, latch systems, room for luggage, comfy ride with lots of space. Nothing else made the cut.

So, we went with the 2011 Honda Odyssey. It looked a little odd from the outside, at first, and there's a little less room in the interior than the Sienna, but it's super slick, handles like a car and I wouldn't trade it for the world. I will say that I get passed more frequently in the minivan - regardless of my speed. I guess other drivers (mostly impatient city-folk) just figure I'm a dumb-ass minivan driver and do their best to stay away from me. Admittedly, that had always been my feeling.

I'm a whiz with the key remote - I have the car running with doors opening as I approach my transport. I can get Lei in and out quickly and have even less of an issue going to the grocery store because I get to play with the back hatch, automatic opener for the bag-loader guys at Sunset.

The only thing we decided to skip was the entertainment package. I know. You're thinking "WHAT? Are you crazy?" We try not to let Lei watch too much TV, but she does like movies. And it's annoying enough that she knows the Annie soundtrack is on the iPod Touch in the car. She's like a little dictator. I'll be damned if she's going to watch Annie or Toy Story 3 or anything else every time we get in the car. I'd rather talk to her or play her Music Together tunes.

If we need movies for a long road-trip, we'll just hang an iPad off the back of my seat for little Lei.  That way, we can remove it when we're done and have it on reserve for special occasions ONLY. I know it seems like the most obvious feature for kids, but we felt differently about it at the end of the day - that it would do more harm than good to include it.

So there you have it - one more way we have slipped further into suburbia. However, this slip was a good one and didn't take much adjustment on my part. The only problem is that now, I look positively drunk trying to back the Jeep out of our driveway without a backup cam. Oh well. If you see me, just mutter under your breath (dumb-ass minivan driver). I won't be offended at all.

Identity Crisis Part III: How Did I Get Here?

So I had a delusional moment the other day, ascending our stairs (to pee for what seemed like the billionth time that day because we still haven't installed the toilet in the half-renovated, half-bath on the main floor) in what felt like someone else's house.

Why so much peeing, you ask? Well ... because I stepped away from The Daily Fuss for two months to get my ducks in a row, I haven't been able to drop daily reminders to all of you that our hot new single "Little Sis" is due to drop on Monday the 31st. Unfortunately, it seems that since Leighton was born during the NCAA Championships that Little Sis would like to wait for the Superbowl to make her debut. Bummer.

So, I'm coming up the stairs thinking to myself, "How did I get here again?" It was an odd space in between a failure to remember who dropped me off at this person's home, and the manner in which the Plinko chip bounced down the board of life to make me the happily married, suburban mother of two with a mortgage and a minivan (oh hell yes - we will address this properly tomorrow) and a little doggie and tenants in my beloved condo and laundry in the dryer and we're out of milk and taxes are due soon and I need to fill out my paperwork for maternity leave and we need more salt for the driveway and is Parenthood on tonight and ... you see where I'm going with this.

It didn't take long to go from the girl-about-town singleton to the current iteration of me. We married in May 2007, bought the condo, had a baby, bought a house in the suburbs and are having another baby this week. What can I say? "Holy Shit" pretty much sums it up.

There have been a few recent moments of pause along the way ... here, here and here to be specific. And, if I hadn't bothered to write about them, I may not have recalled ceratin aspects of my metamorphasis.

The good news is that both Ryan and I are the type of people who think just long and carefully enough about the decisions we make (major ones included) without making ourselves ill over deliberation. We pick our pony and never look back. We trust that we made a good choice and work through whatever that brings. However, that type of decision-making has lead to rapid change in a short period of time no matter the super-sound logic involved.

Don't worry, I'm not going Revolutionary Road on you in ANY way. I'm a happy girl, I just don't recognize myself sometimes. Reconciling who I fancy myself to be and who I really am is a daily download - like a JenMom software patch. It takes effort, but it's not exhausting. I fully expect that the overwhelming gratification, part and parcel to leading a happy life, includes perpetual bouts of alternating hard work and hard play. That's what makes it interesing in my overly energetic opinion.

Stay tuned this week and the next and the next and the next ... for more of the hard work phase once Little Sis joins our squad. And thanks for sticking with me while I took some time to get my act together. Much appreciated.

Ryan is flushing his freshly installed, half-bath toiled as I type these very words. I could not love him more. My hero!

Optimization: Meal Planning

I am a process person. I gravitate toward maximizing efficiency, systematic approaches and organization in general. I wrote about this after Leighton was born clearly with more energy than I have now and continue to seek out methods for optimizing the management of our happy little home.

It is readily apparent to me that disorganization costs money. If I misplace something I need, then I have to buy it again. If the magazine subscription lapses, then it costs triple on the newsstand. If I forget to get gas before going into the city, then it costs me an extra few bucks to get home. Every time I lose the radio key to Leighton's school, they charge me twenty dollars. When the house is a mess, things get lost or broken and need to be replaced. This list is ostensibly endless.

Food is a HUGE offender. If I don't have food on hand in the morning for dinner that night, I might just order in or buy the super-expensive prepared foods at the deli. If I don't have time to take inventory and make a decent grocery list, then I wind up with moldy bread and ten extra rotten bananas a week later. If I don't have Leighton's snacks stocked at home, then she eats overpriced crap at the zoo, or store or museum or music class or wherever we are. If we're out of coffee, then Starbucks gets incredibly lucky. You get the picture.

We have managed this to some degree with meal planning while sticking to a budget. However, it was much easier when we ordered from Peapod - you can order late at night, the food is delivered and you can manage your lists with ease. However, we now live up the street from a wonderful grocery store (minus the Lulu Lemon contingent) and Peapod comes less frequently to this new house. So, I routinely forget to place my Peapod order and need to run to Sunset foods with increasing regularity.

As a way to combat this mental foolishness, I have devised a better meal planning system that will work for me, as well as Ryan, my parents, a nanny or anyone else that steps in to help us with a new baby coming. The cornerstone of my optimized meal plan (index cards) is as old-fashioned as it is reliable and I can't wait to put it to the test starting monday.

The current and soon to be outdated system is as follows:

Breakfasts, lunches and snacks are based off of an aggregate of weekly items - milk, juice, eggs, bread, chicken sausage, fruits veggies, mish-mash, crackers, lunch meat, cheese, yogurt etc. that we know we need - reduced to a weekly shopping list on yet another spread sheet.

We also have twenty one dinner meals planned and rotate seven for any given week. The ingredients and shopping list are included in the spread sheet and once we pick our seven, we shop off of said spread sheet.

This plan worked great when we were able to better manage our grocery shopping. It's just not working so well now that we make several trips each week and often run out to pick up dinner fixings at the last minute.

The solution ... index cards.

I will print the weekly shopping list for breakfasts, lunches and snacks and make sure we're stocked every sunday with those staples. That list will live on the fancy schmancy wall organizer in the kitchen, right next to the white board that holds the "All Out Of" check list for unexpected items.

 
I will reduce each dinner to an index card with the meal on one side and the shopping list of ingredients on the other.  That way, if we need to run out for a meal or two at a time, very little thought or lead time is required. These cards will also reside in the organizer for ease in grabbing them on the way to the store.

This has to work. Otherwise, it's back to the drawing board. We'll see how it goes and I'll keep you posted along the way.

Over the next three weeks, I'll decide whether my index card system flies or flops. I'm happy to share twenty-one days of meals with you, as well. In the interim, please feel free to post any tips or tricks you have for managing the ongoing task of feeding your family.