The Daily Fuss

Food Sense Part I: What Are We Eating?

In previous food-related discussions, I've mentioned how we strive to eat well in the Freeman house. We have a few simple rules by which we do our best to abide. 

• Organic whenever possible.
• Lots of fruits and veggies - grow them in the summer garden.
• Keep packaged goods to a minimum.
• If you can't pronounce it, don't eat it.
• Use a variety of whole grains.
• We make our own whole wheat bread (well, Mary Poppins makes it, and it's delicious), and I've been making yogurt lately - mostly for fun and because I can.
• Vegetarian dinners a few nights each week.
• Eat red meat rarely.
• Know where your food comes from.
• Keep sugar to a minimum. This one is incredibly tough.
• Everything in moderation.

Of course, we occasionally buy snacks for lunches and the kids can have fruit/veggie juice blends (which do have sugar). We also get into ruts from time to time where we find ourselves eating the same things.

We love wine and cheese and any strict diet that eliminates certain food groups would be completely lost on us. i.e. Virgin, South Beach, Perricone, Paleo etc. So far, the Mediterranean diet has the easiest guidelines for us to follow and I rely on that mentally when ordering out at restaurants.

I think we are reasonable, but we're also indulgent. Our grocery budget hovers in the range of $1,000 per month. (This includes beverages - namely red wine and various household items such as light bulbs and toilet paper).

I will get produce, frozen fruit for smoothies, cheeses, condiments and some limited meats from Costco. For example, they have organically fed chicken (breasts) that taste great. I don't have much luck with that most other places, but Costco has so much other crap, I dread the trip.  We get the rest of what we need from Peapod or a local grocer.

I find grocery shopping to be an absolute chore, which is why I actually prefer to do it online. Most of the commercial or packaged food in stores has little nutritional value (at best) or (at worst) is inedible. Health experts aren't kidding when they stay "stick to the perimeter" of the grocery store. It's those middle aisles that will be the end of us.

But the packaging is so pretty. [SIGH]

I understand that many people live on a tight budget. I am also aware that colorful boxes of food product that barely contain actual food are less expensive than real food - building blocks of a meal that must be assembled and/or cooked prior to consumption.

That's a lot of work. But it's worth it.

According to commercials, Americans want tasty food that's inexpensive, won't spoil quickly, can be prepared in minutes and won't make you fat. 

Good luck.

It must be true, because so much of what's stacked up and down the aisles caters to those desires.

The Food Network is currently airing a Walmart commercial to show people an alternative to fast food for lunch. I thought to myself, "How responsible of them, to send the message that fast food is utter garbage." Alas no. The "alternative" was a Hot Pocket and soda - a full meal you can pack for your self that only costs $2.00!

To suggest someone should buy a case of these horrific get bombs and consume them daily is, well,  silly.

If I think too much about what's in food, I start unraveling. Packaged junk is one thing. And, it's fairly easy to eliminate.

However, when I factor in the importing of food from other countries with lower quality standards, the inability to track the origin of meats and vegetables, irradiated foods, apples that sit in gas chambers to prevent ripening for a year or more, inhumane treatment of animals in slaughterhouses, states passing anti-whistleblower statues criminalizing the videotaping of activities in various facilities, gases released from melting polar ice caps, tainted water supplies, the billions of tons of garbage floating around in the ocean, genetically modified food, grain fed animals, improper labeling, hormones in milk, and contaminated meats, fish and produce ... I lose my appetite completely.

What I listed above is not propaganda. It's real. And, it's really easy to ignore if you don't want to see it. 

The true propaganda lies in the commercials and packaging and advertising that leads us to believe that food is food and it should be cheap and fast and not make you fat and/or kill you at some point. 

Yes. We can talk about how diets based predominantly on salt, fat and sugar cause cancer and diabetes and acid reflux and obesity and heart disease and a number of other things that lead to an early death. But we'll stick to packaged foods for today.

If you don't believe me, see if you can identify these ten, common, packaged foods by their ingredients. I did them in the form of Wordles to make it visually appealing.  The larger the word, the more it appears on the package.

Keep in mind that the ingredient list does not need to include compounds used to "clean" meats, chemically create other substances and/or oil and clean processing machines. For example, cane sugar is often whitened using charcoal from the bones of cows. Gross.Vegan sugar is made without this process and is thusly Vegan.

 

1. Popular Lunch Meat

2. For many kids, this is their entire breakfast most days.

3. Pop this in the microwave, grab a Mountain Dew, and apparently you have an entire "meal" for under $2.

4. Breakfast on the go. You can get these frosted or not.

5. Canned O's. Admittedly, these aren't quite as bad as I thought.

6.  This is actually three items together to create one of America's favorite sandwiches to serve kids.

7. This little snack bar is in my pantry. Well ... it was until I read the label closely.

8. Kids drink this - according to sales numbers. I have only ever tried it once and I think it's super gross. The commercials suggest the sun comes out when this beverage does.

9. Two words. Cheese. Product. 

10. This one is particularly shameful because it's an uber popular diet food. It's always on sale and, according to the label, milk is basically an afterthought. Hint: I make my own.

This all may seem a bit harsh, but eating these packaged food wouldn't be such a big deal if they were an exception, rather than the rule. I blame the 1950's and the ensuing acquiescence to lazy living. The 50's (the dawn of convenience items for the modern housewife) gave us everything from tv dinners to the Fridigdaire. Preservatives and packed freezers allowed us to keep food longer and make it faster. Luckily, the current decade has seen the rebirth of the agrarian - a trend I hope continues. 

ANSWERS

1. Bologna

I chose this because it is inexpensive compared to whole cuts of meat. And, the commercially packaged bologna is reminiscent of the "pink slime" expose we have likely all seen. I personally prefer cuts of meat from a single animal. It leaves almost zero room to add any filler or crazy bits. You need to go straight to the butcher for this. There are fancy bolognas you can get from the butcher. However, if the frankenmeat is patched together, I believe it's better just to skip it. There are just too many points of failure there. 

2. Golden Grahams

Commercial cereals kill me because the main selling point is that you can get a large percentage of your much-needed vitamins and minerals in a serving of cereal. The reality is any cereal that tastes "good" (especially to a kid) is nothing more than bleached flour and sugar "fortified" with powdered vitamin compounds. Grains should be whole, rather than heavily processed, sugar has no nutritional value and real live fruits and veggies (along with a healthy dose of sunlight) offer more vitamins than that cereal.

3. Philly Steak and Cheese Hot Pocket

You could not PAY me to put a hot pocket into my body. Don't misunderstand, I am not above eating junk food on occasion. In fact, Filet O'Fish is my favorite pregnancy indulgence. However, there is not enough sodium or high fructose corn syrup in the world to make a Hot Pocket taste good. It just isn't possible. Aside from salt and a number of things I can't pronounce, a package of two Philly Steak and Cheese Hot Pockets contains 740 calories, 36 grams of fat, 14 grams of saturated fat, only 2 grams of fiber and zero vegetables. 

4. Pop Tarts

Pop Tarts are palatable if toasted to a crisp, but make no mistake, they are pure junk - basically sugar, oil and a mixture of refined corn and wheat. In the world of baked goods, you would generally expect to see flour, sugar, butter, baking soda, fruit and an extract (vanilla, orange, lemon). That's about it. Maybe vegetable oil. The fact that these toaster treats have a long shelf life (and the fact that it likely costs three cents to produce one tart) is the driver for the shenanigans on the label.

5. SpaghettiOs

I have eaten these once. They taste like noodles with catsup (not ketchup). My children will never konw what these are. Although, the label proved a better read than I thought. I do see tomato and onion on the label and, like cereal, there are quite a few powdered vitamins in the mix. Why so much oil, I wonder? The downside is that if you feed this to your kids, they may start to think pasta is supposed to taste like sugary, buttered ketchup noodles. If you're going to do canned or jarred pasta, at least throw a pasta bomb in to assuage the associated guilt.

6. Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich

Everyone loves PB&J, including me. Let's just not fool ourselves into thinking this is anything more than dessert. You can eat dessert for a meal. We have cake for breakfast after birthday parties. There is no shame. Just don't do it all the time. The ingredient Wordle for this is Jif, Smuckers Strawberry Preserves and Brownberry Bread. Right behind peanuts and strawberries, the top ingredients are high fructose corn syrup, corn syrup, sugar and salt. Peanuts have protein, but they are the least sophisticated sibling in the nut family. If you can't live without PB&J, go for a peanut butter made with naturally sweet valencia peanuts as the only ingredient( CostCo carries it) and a fruit spread with less sugar. 

7. Special K Pastry Crisps

There are just way too many ingredients in these. They are tiny Pop Tarts. It's a "lazy" item in our pantry. I am never buying them again.

8. Sunny D

There isn't anything remotely resembling fruit juice in here. I'm not sure I would even let the girls drink this at a birthday party. I'm not sure they would drink it if I let them try it. 

9. Velveeta

At least "milk" and other cheese related ingredients show up on the label of this admitted "cheese product". As a Wisconsin native, this and basically any "American Cheese" offends my sensibilities. I do buy Kraft singles for grilled cheese, but it's against my better judgment. We use real cheese for sandwiches.

10. Yoplait Light "Yogurt"

 This one is just plain ridiculous. The tag line is, "Yoplait Light makes healthier eating SO good." Healthier than what? Real yogurt please. In the "unwanted ingredients department" Yoplait light is right on par with the Muller Fruit Up containing tilapia. 

Safe Fall

We (by "we" I mean mostly Ryan with help from my dad) erected a massive play set in our backyard. It was much bigger than the previous - quite a sturdy situation, in fact.

It has swings and slide and climbing wall and a rope wall thingy and a playhouse with working shutters and a chimney and dormers and ... you could fall off of it and die it's so big.

Did you know that falling on grass can cause head injuries and bodily damage tantamount to a fall on concrete?

If you were not aware, unfortunately you are now.

Due to this bit of information, I didn't want anyone to play on the imposing structure until we laid at least six inches of something relatively soft beneath it. (Luckily, it rained that week).

What to pick? Gravel? Wood chips? Mulch? Sand?

I found this handy dandy guide to playground surfaces in the instruction manual for my Gorilla play set. So I went with it.

Since I could not find such a succinct and on-point chart anywhere else quickly, I thought I'd share.

We chose rubber mulch (6" depth), which is basically shredded tires. It looks great (better than my natural mulch on most days) and is so soft and bouncy, I am no longer terrified when the girls ascend the ladder. 

Garden Variety - Year 3

Item #2 on my summer to do list is "Tend My Garden" and I feel I have it well in-hand, now that things are really starting to grow. 

This year, I turned the four 4x5 beds into two 4.5 x12 beds. That gave me a few extra feet of space to plant. I pushed my plantings out into the side beds and used some planters, as well.

In total, I planted:

• Twelve tomato plants with two others scattered about and three volunteers that I let go for a grand total of 17 plants ranging from heirloom, to sauce to salsa in every color, shape and size
• Nine pepper plants ranging from sweet bells to jalapenos
• Four lemon cucumbers
• Three Burpless cucumbers
• Three Spacesaver cucumbers
• Two baby bush cucumbers
• Two bush beans (it's been cool and wet enough that these are thriving)
• Two bush peas (it's been cool and wet enough that these are thriving)
• An assortment of squashes, the labels for which got mixed up when I started them under the grow light. So, I have roughly seven plants that could be spaghetti, butternut or acorn squash, summer squash or any of eight varieties of heirloom pumpkin. Time will tell.
• Two 12ft rows of beets
• One 12ft row of kale
• Two 12ft rows of red and green lettuce
• Two 5ft copper planters with easy serve green lettuce
• Two feet of microgreens
• Twelve strawberry plants (that mostly feed the bird population in my yard)
• One prolific blackberry bush
• Chocolate mint, pineapple mint, cilantro, basil, fennel, thyme, English lavender, French lavender, lemon balm, bee balm and yarrow to attract bees, butterflies and (as of yesterday) a hummingbird!
• Four PVC "wormeries" - 2 in each bed

I have learned two big things over the past few years that, I believe, are currently serving this year's crop well. Garden Year 1. Garden Year 2.

I now truly understand what it means to say that "green things love nitrogen." By "green" I am specifically reffering to leaves. NOT FRUIT.  I have thusly learned to judiciously prune superfluous leaves froma plant to force the plant energy into the fruit. It's tough to clip a limb from a living thing you grew from seed, but last year I didn't prune a single leaf and had very few peppers, for example. I have TONS of blooms this year. And, in turn, am hoping for a bumper crop of veggies and fruits. I continue to "snip snip".

The other big thing I came to understand is that for row veggies, thinning them properly is paramount. My first year out, I planted beets, carrots and kholrabi. They grew, but I didn't thin them in time (too fussy and they got away from me). They developed into an intertwined mess, and I ended up with a small yield of mishapen roots. This year, I pulled all the extra shoots, rinsed them and ate them with some balsamic and oil. I felt good that they didn't go to waste and they were delicious.

Today I will stake the peppers so they don't topple and use velcro tape to keep one particularly moster tomato in line. Other than a periodic check in ... this garden is tended. I am checking it off my list.

Out of Hand

I am aggressively attacking my to do list on several fronts.

It's slow-going.

For example, I cleaned and organized the storage/unfinished portion of the basement yesterday and I am completely sore today from the bending, lifting and twisting (essentially cardio-yoga) involved in dealing with my small, but jam-packed space.

In the interest of otherwise showing progress this week, I offer status on the following items:

2) Tend my garden = COMING ALONG BEAUTIFULLY

3) Can and otherwise preserve the fruits of said garden = PROCURED NEW WECK JARS AND FAITHFULLY TEND CROPS

8) Thoughtfully display the girls' artwork = HUNG NEW FRAMES, ONE OF FOUR WAS BROKEN, ORDERED REPLACEMENT

9) Free up kitchen counter space = ORDERED SOLUTION FOR VEGGIE/SNACK BOWLS/COFFEE CLUTTER

12) Clean/organize basement = DONE

13) Clean/organize my closet = PARTIALLY DONE PER DONATIONS/BASEMENT REORGANIZE

15) Donate everything I don't need = IN PROGRESS

16) Spend time with family = ONGOING: WE HAD AN EXCELLENT WEEKEND

I likely won't have everything done by the end of summer, so why not add a few more time consuming and seemingly impossible items to the list?

My neighbor and I have been running lately and sticking right around 3 miles per outing. Today, we decided we need more of a commitment and vowed to run 100 miles in July. That's basically a 5k a day for a 31 month. 

Also after posting about how Muller uses tilapia to keep its Fruit Up "fruit mousse" fluffy, I learned from my Aunt (Paleo advocate) that there exists a challenge NOT to eat anything with a nutrition label for a month. So, as long as I am running my ass off, I might as well be munching nuts and berries. 

In sum, I'm adding:

17) Run 100 miles in July; and

18) Eat ONLY whole foods for a month (also July?)

to my list.

Details to come.

Who's with me? 

Runners and healthy eaters, tips, suggestions, recipes and encouragement are welcome! Please post a comment and share your fuss with us!

The War on Stuff

Our house is bursting at the seams with "stuff" and I just don't know where it all comes from.

Well ... that's a lie.

I am head of procurement for the Freeman family and I do love to shop. We have more packages delivered than any local business and free shipping is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Where I strive to be green in so many other ways ... shopping is not exactly one of them.

The term "stuff" is comprised of a few distinct categories.

Let's start with the girls.

Apparel: At ages two and four, they grow out of things daily. Hand-me-downs are few because either the season is wrong for the size or the article just doesn't look quite right on little sis. Clothing is an arch enemy in my war on stuff. Let's add the ridiculous number of tennis shoes, boots, Crocs, sandals and slippers and call the whole lot "Apparel".

Accessories: I'll put sunglasses, costumes, barrettes, purses, dress up shoes, jewelry, wands and wings here.

Toys: The small plastic things (that once belonged to a set and now are in a random bowl somewhere with the choke-ables I initially pulled out) are of major concern. The rest of the toys find homes in their respective bins with little consequence.

Ryan (by his own account) is not responsible for any part of our mess, as he doesn't lay claim to any part of the house except for his closet (which is an absolute disaster) and his dresser (which is empty with freshly folded laundry sitting atop).

As for me, I have my own areas of mayhem. I will just bullet this for you and let your imagination run wild.

• My closet
• My home office
• My art/craft and otherwise DIY items
• My tools
• My basement (unfinished area)
• My built in cabinets

I love projects. "Project Stuff" should literally be one of my categories because once I set my sights on a project (i.e. soap-making, canning, jewelry making, party planning) I need to acquire all the "stuff" that goes with it.

"Project Stuff" and "Work Stuff" pretty much covers me.

I catch myself daydreaming of a paralell universe where all the flat surfaces in my home are devoid of clutter, unopened mail, chargers, random Barbie shoes and clean dishes that need to be put away but are an odd shape so that extra energy must be expended to put them away and it just isn't going to happen right his minute.

What a lovely home that would be.

I can achieve this. I know I can. I just don't want to give up my project-oriented way of being to do it.

So I won't.

I am dedicating this summer to accomplishing an aggressive "to do" list while decluttering and optimizing this house into the utopian vision in my head.

Items (both projects and optimization efforts) include:

1) Build yard waste composter from old cedar playset

2) Tend my garden

3) Can and otherwise preserve the fruits of said garden

4) Learn how to make cheese (yes I'm serious)

5) Turn existing jewelry supplies into jewelry

6) Turn existing soap-making supplies into soap

7) Organize photos, make books and fill frames

8) Thoughtfully display the girls' artwork

9) Free up kitchen counter space

10) Organize home office

11) Organize playroom/craft space (including finding an alternative for the creepy looking sheers)

12) Clean/organize basement

13) Clean/organize my closet

14) Complete all of the unfinished renovation projects around the house, room by room

15) Donate everything I don't need

16) Spend time with family

Notice that "Relax" "Read" "Enjoy Myself" "Save Money" and "Lose 20 Pounds" is not on this list. Those are all on a list, just not this list.

Let this serve as my official declaration of my war on stuff.

It's going to be a busy summer. 

How about you? Do you have a  perpetual organizational "to do" list hanging over your head? Post a comment and share your fuss with us.

House Part II: City or Suburbs?

Over lunch this week, a client brought up a familiar subject I love to discuss - the mental and emotional struggle that ensues when a couple faces the decision to move from the city to the suburbs.

This move is generally spurred by the prospect of trying for baby #2 and the inevitable realization that there is just not enough room in the condo for toddler stuff and baby stuff.

The question: Do I upgrade from a condo to a house in the city, or move to a suburb with award-winning public schools and more square footage for my money? SIGH.

I have made my past preference known for the urban over the suburban. My most comprehensive comparison of the two can be found in a post entitled House. I published this post on August 18, 2010, just weeks after moving into our Highland Park home.

My pro-con list is better informed now that we've been here for a few years, so I figured it was as good a time as any to update my comparison.

To recap, the 2010 points in favor of city condo dwelling were as follows:

1) neighborly anonymity

2) can walk almost everywhere

3) ease of internet grocery shopping

4) taxi cab prevalence

5) accessibility of Midway airport

6) common elements are handled by someone else

7) calming familiarity with urban sounds

Points in favor of the suburban home:

1) yard

2) more space for stuff in the house

3) free guest parking

My tune has changed since August 2010. For starters, I love my neighbors, a few of whom in particular have become good friends. We walk plenty in the warmer months and make good use of the Green Bay trail, says the girl who trained for and ran two half marathons this past year.

Thankfully, Peapod has beefed up its delivery schedule to HP. I have also converted back to United as my preferred airline (yay O'Hare) and have American Taxi on speed dial, sometimes last minute. Finally, I faintly hear the train in the distance and it's all the reminder I need that I still live quite close to civilzation as I once knew it.

Additional 2013 points in favor of our suburban situation include:

1) close proximity to the commuter train - a stress-free ride to work

2) Ravinia Outdoor Music Festival and the Chicago Botanic Garden are a mile up the road

3) Anthropologie, Pottery Barn and Paper Source are a half mile down the road along with one-of-a-kind boutiques and restaurants

4) gardening is now my relaxing way to be sustainable - I also have a wormery

5) grilling without having to take an elevator ride to the patio is a bonus - plus our backyard never closes so winter grilling is an option

6) sandboxes and swingsets - we have a little park right in our own yard

7) ability to entertain in our home - we have thrown crazy elaborate birthday parties and even hosted thanksgiving and Christmas this year

8) ability to hang and perpetually admire outdoor lights and Christmas decorations

Finally, one of the most fun things about our suburban dwelling is that it has such potential for greatness. We spend countless hours pouring glasses of wine and poring over Houzz, in an effort to determine exactly how to majorly renovate our house. We'll most likely do a mojor renovation in the next year or two.

If it doesn't happen, it's likely because we've found the perfect "new" house a block or two from here, into which we will move. And the list of things we love about Highland Park will continue to grow.

How about you? Is city living your thing or do you prefer the burbs? Post a comment and share your fuss with us.

Abundance

When I told my neighbor about the 800 pounds of sand I put in Lei's new sandbox he said, "Wow. You don't really do anything halfway. Do you?"

That pretty much sums it up.

Friends and family members had similar reactions to my commitment to plant twelve tomato plants this spring. "You'll have a bumper crop," said one. "I guess I don't have to shop for vegetables this summer," declared another. "I give you 'til July 'til you're sick of it," said my mother.

Umm hmm. Go big or go home, I say. No one will ever accuse me of being lazy.

I bought these plastic connector thingies from Improvements and had 2x8s cut at the Ho Depot. I wanted something that could easily be removed if I decided gardening's not my thing. They seemed rather temporary ... until I filled them with several square yards of dirt, of course.

 
They aren't my favorite-looking beds, but they're working quite well, and are slowly being covered by tasty foliage. The garden is in full swing at the moment.

 
Maybe I'm just overly impressed with myself because this is my first gardening experience, but I check my flowers, shoots, sprouts and burgeoning fruits several times each day to monitor progress.

I have twelve tomato plants total - most of which are heirloom: 2 Big Mama, 2 Italian Ice, 2 Honeybunch, 1 Black Krim, 1 Big Rainbow, 1 Supersteak, 1 Brandywine, 1 Red Lightning and 1 Tye-dye. I nearly lost them during the alternating rain/scorching heat we had early on, but they are thriving now. I divided them into three beds. The bush tomatoes are split between two beds with Fairy Tale Eggplant and several varieties of peppers: Pinot Noir, Great Stuff, Bananarama, Golden Giant, Red Delicious, Costa Rican Sweet and The Godfather.

  
 
The climbers are mixed in the root and leaf beds where I have Kaleidoscope Carrots and Sweet Kohlrabi (that I accidentally planted in the same row - ugh), Bull’s Blood Beets, Bright Lights Swiss Chard, as well as Red, Green and Yellow Flying Saucer lettuces, and summer-Long Leaf lettuces.

  
I also have Spacesaver and Lemon Cucumbers surrounding the beds on two sides and Summer Squash on a third. I planted Mara Des Bois Strawberries in two planters temporarily and I still need to figure out what the heck to do with those for the next two years.

 
I have beans and peas in hanging baskets - although it's soon to be just beans since the peas can't take the heat. I will launch those again this fall.

 
I have several Basils, marigolds and Sweet Alyssum tucked beneath the tomatoes and peppers and have started a round of fall herbs including, Fennel, Chocolate Mint, Thyme and Boxwood Basil.

 

  
I'm having a lovely time so far - most likely because I haven't had to pick much of anything yet. If all goes according to plan, I will have more food than I know what to do with. I might even need to get into canning to avoiding wasting any of my yield.

Another project you say? Yes. That's exactly what I need.

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.

 

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.

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!

Howdy Neighbor

I've been on the neighborhood ladies email list for two weeks and, in that time, a few emails have buzzed around. One even had an attachment, it just took time for me to dig around in my personal email and open it.

I finally had a few spare moments today to sift through the latest sales and Southwest getaways, reply to Evites or delete copious offers for vitamin supplements. For me, it's the electronic equivalent to the Sunday paper inserts. You know ... funmail.

I eagerly opened the flyer attachment from the most recent neighborhood ladies email only to find that Las Toberfest (I have no clue where the name came from) was this past Saturday. Sadly for me, everyone attends this soirre and, according to one of the two neighbors I actually know, I should "never miss Las Toberfest."

Ooops. How was I supposed to know that my neighborhood chickadees would celebrate something that sounds remotely like "Octoberfest" in August?

As the newbie, I was naturally looking forward to meeting the rest of the gals on my block. Being the proverbial new girl is not generally a big deal. However, I am somewhat self-conscious in this particular instance because we bought the house months ago, tore it up, put most of it back together and just recently moved in. Speculation about the new Freemans has been swirling down the street for some time now.

In the context of a suburban neighborhood community curiosity, I am the most highly scrutinized type of new girl. I'm the new girl who decided that this year we'll focus on renovating the interior of the house and next year we'll tackle the exterior and landscaping - the part of the house that everyone sees. Everything we've done for the past several months begs the question ... What the heck are they up to in there?

I'm the new girl who's had a dumpster parked in her driveway for several weeks at a stretch since April. I'm the new girl who had a carpenter set up on her front lawn making a noisy, dusty mess.

I'm the new girl who (even after a month since moving in) still has a hundred pounds of corrugated cardboard bound up on her curb for the recycling truck every monday.

I'm the new girl who hit an all-time, hillbilly low in early July when our Jeep was stuck on our lawn for several hours one suffocatingly hot, friday evening. It was on that very day Ryan I decided that the good folks in our new neighborhood were wagering on whether or not we had full sets of teeth or were related to one another or said things like "git 'er done" or would one day shoot the racoons right off the top of them there garbage cans. Varmints!

We have a one-car garage and thusly, a one-car width driveway. We also live on a no parking street. With contractors and family members coming over to deliver things, haul things away and help us in general, it was occasionally just easier to roll right up on the lawn next to the driveway for a brief spell.

Unfortunately, our model of Jeep Grand Cherokee had a tempermental steering column/ignition pin lock and if you turn the wheel after parking you can apparently break the whole damn thing. This very scenario played out with us looking like complete hilljacks - our Jeep parked (cockeyed, as Ryan will point out) in the middle of the yard long after the help had gone home.

AAA sent a service truck out to have a look. After thirty seconds, the driver said, "The ignition's busted. I can tow it to a shop for you. Should be fixed by monday. Or .... I could call my uncle. He can probably help you tonight." Yep. His uncle.

While we waited for the only, living, willing, repair guy who could install a new ignition on site at nine pm on a friday, we made vain attempts to unlock the steering column ourselves using random suggestions drudged up from the bowels of the internet by the Google-machine.

Please try to picture one of us jumping up and down on the front bumper while the other violently jerks the stiff wheel back and forth. These sad, turf-destroying efforts came in short bursts because it was too damn hot for human beings to carry out this ridiculous exercise for any extended period of time. By the time help arrived, the wheel was in an unusual position. "You never want your steering wheel stuck completely upside down" the helpful master of the obvious told us, as he busied himself in the portable garage that was his utility van.

People who point out the obvious usually make me nuts, but this guy installed a new ignition for us faster than you could say "chop shop" so I just can't bring myself to hate him for it. It barely even weirds me out that this alleged "uncle" didn't seem much older than the AAA driver who had led us to him. Once our precious transport was back in the driveway where she belonged, I was nothing other than entirely grateful and relieved.

Let me just say that if the neighborhood folk somehow overlooked the weeks and months of renovation hoopla at our house, there was little chance they missed the car parked on our lawn during prime time on a friday night. Las Toberfest was a golden opportunity for me redeem the Freemans before the whole hood - a shot at showing them how hilariously, brilliantly normal we are, and I BLEW it.

Damn you, ill-named and inappropriately-timed Las Toberfest. Damn you!

House

When you're single, married people are always asking you when you think you'll get married. When do you think he'll propose? Are you bummed you're not married yet? What kind of wedding do you want to if he proposes tomorrow?

The list of questions is endless, right down to china patterns and venues. It's like the married-folk have joined a little club and they're dying to see your membership application.

Once initiated into the club, you are immediately privy to the gruesome details of the dysfunctional inner-workings of these marriages over a nice wine-soaked round of Bunko or whatever those wacky wives clubs are doing to entertain themselves these days. You almost feel the urge to make things up about your husband to fit in, but think better of it and just chip in a few cents about how he doesn't pick up his socks or wet towels. That ass!

The same holds true for the couples with kiddos. Once you have a baby, you can't wait for your friends to reproduce. Mostly because having a newborn pretty much sucks and misery truly loves company. However, you direct your discussions to sweet baby gear and dazzle them with pictures of your peanut sleeping or posed in other similarly peaceful states. You only divulge the horrors of parenthood - no sleep, diaper blow outs, the exorbitant cost of the sweet baby gear, ear infections, bad babysitters, sore boobs, and the like once your friend is about to give birth. Ha ha - SUCKAS!

I had no idea that more of these clubs existed, related to the stages of life through which we must matriculate to feel successful, but aren't nearly as glamorous as they first appear. However, I am on to the next club, not necessarily in the same order as everyone else - the houseowner club. I have been a homeowner for some time, just not a houseowner. HUGE difference. And, everyone else who was rah-rahing for me to buy the house is now referring to it as a "lifetime love-hate relationship". FAN-TAS-TIC.

City condo living and suburban house living are completely different. Let me point out a few of the most crucial deviations in my opinion:

1) In a high-rise in the city, we can live twenty feet from twenty people for ten years and not know ANY of their names. Sure, I vaguely know three-packs-a-day on the pool deck guy, weird helmet guy, pot-smoking sorority girls know as the besties, the association president el presidente, ambiguously gay dude, the woman who can never remember how old Luella is and whether she is a she or a he but asks every single time we're in the elevator, lawyer guy, the triathlete, Auntie Social and the woman who furiously tries to manually close the elevator door before you can shut your mailbox and dash there yourself. Worth mentioning - the couple whose children addressed everyone as "hi people" who once lived at the end of the hall.

In the burbs, I am on the Highland Park Ladies email list, currently watering the neighbor's plants and rearranging their trash cans while on vacation and have been asked several times via snail mail to "Save the Children" by a specific individual. What the fuss? I so frequently stand at the sidewalk in front of my house to make polite conversation that I am ready to put a bench right at the foot of the driveway. And, I've fielded so many inquiries related to our renovation that I am considering holding an open house to take care of multiple requests to see things like my new soapstone countertops all in one fell swoop.

2) City = Drive some, walk everywhere else. Burbs = Walk some, drive daily. We need a second car and that absolutely blows.

3) Peapod needs some advance notice to schedule a grocery delivery to the burbs. Whereas I can schedule at the last minute in the city. Many people have tried to convince me that grocery shopping is relaxing and fun and wonderful. I CANNOT STAND grocery shopping anywhere other than the internet - Peapod to be specific. Otherwise, I need to go to Whole Foods for much of the order, then Sunset for the few other things I can't get at Whole Foods (like preggo waffles and the WW frozen Quesadillas to which I am addicted and will rarely admit to eating) and then to the specialty market for the things I need that are at Whole Foods but way more expensive than they should be and as a matter of principle, I can't buy them there. I can get everything I need from Peapod, while I track my spend and avoid getting sidetracked by impulse purchases. I spend no less than $100 on wine, cheese and tapenade every time simply walking through the doors of Whole Paycheck. Boo.

4) City = Hailing a taxi. Burbs = Calling the night before for a taxi. There are multiple reasons Ryan and I are both having a tough time with this one. But the most important factor is that we like to do things at the last minute.

5) We now live very far from Midway, which means no more Southwest. I hate O'Hare, hate getting to and from O'Hare, I despise all airlines EXCEPT Southwest. I need a game plan here because this just isn't working for me. Plus, if you take a city cab home from the airport, the credit card authorization is out of range. It's like I live on a farm or something. Last night, the driver who brought me home from O'Hare thought I was leading him somewhere to be mugged or killed. In the city, the opposite is generally true.

6) We suddenly have a roof, yard and basement to worry about. In the city, we had a 24 hour doorperson and maintenance crew. We never bothered with those things considered "common elements". SIGH. This is the main issue that no one mentioned until after we bought a free-standing house. "You'll spend so much money every year on stuff you won't even notice - new roof, new furnace blah blah blah." The dryer broke the other day and we bought a new set of front-loaders. Super expensive pain in the ass is all I can say.

7) I can hear bugs instead of the 22 bus. I am rattled by the table-saw hum of the mating cicadas in my yard. I would pay someone fifty bucks to record the lilting sounds of Clark and Fullerton at dusk. "Next stop - Clark and Belden ... Clark and Belden. Psshhht. Vroom." Oh I do miss it something awful. That, and the bright lights of the skyline to guide me to the potty three times each pregnant night. Now, it's pitch black and I use my right leg like walking cane for the blind. My shins look like half-eaten corn cobs - bruises and bug bites. Gorgeous.

There are upsides.

1) Lei loves her yard - especially the swing set. Luella does too. In fact, she one self-assured pooch these days. It's as though she can't believe we won the lottery and have an actual yard! A YARD! I told her that I'd like to see the carcases of ten fallen voles, lined up on the patio by the end of the week. She agreed to give it a shot.

2) We can walk to the lake, Ravinia, the train and downtown HP. With this comes the ability to walk to a restaurant, have a few cocktails and not have to drive home. That is a major plus where suburbs are concerned.

3) The guest parking situation has improved immensely. In the city, you fend for yourself and probably should have taken a cab. We do have parking - a definite plus - although not a huge one in my opinion. Even traffic wasn't much of an issue for me, just for those visiting from out of town.

I'm confident more upsides will emerge by Halloween - Halloween itself likely being one of them. I just need to revisit this list regularly and stay positive, even in the face of pregnancy, renovations, out-of-commission second bathrooms and a brand new, defective, front-loading washing machine. The washing machine was a bitter pill. Tomorrow is a brand new day.

Deconstruction

I vaguely remember, at some point in the process of buying this most recent home, turning to Ryan and stating very matter-of-factly, "The best part about this house is that we don't need to do anything to it before we move in."

Hi me. Have you met me?

I absolutely meant what I said on that particular day. The house was cute enough for now, and I had absolutely no desire to live through another renovation process at this juncture. (Check out our 2008 condo rehab. Password is chicagocondo).

At closing in April, we decided that the size and condition of the house called for a major renovation in 5-7 years. We figured that giving the house a minor face lift now would help us avoid temptation to overhaul prematurely.

Shortly thereafter, we started tearing shit up in our 1925 Georgian colonial gem.

I should have realized at the outset that I'm particularly fussy. I like things a certain way - So does Ryan. And, if we agree on anything at all, we agree on spending money. A "budget" is the total amount we've spent on getting something just the way we want it. A "budget" is a moving target.

We gutted the entire kitchen - junked the appliances and sold the cabinets. The floor was a challenge - covered in chunky tile awkwardly affixed to cement board, glued to ceramic tile over linoleum that was stuck to the original hardwood. It was ridiculous.

We also removed the damaged hardwood on the first floor, demolished the banisters and upstairs built ins. Tore out trim and mouldings that didn't match and basically pulled out every piece of DIY nightmare the three previous owners had proudly installed. It's almost as if, over time, each of the three tried harder and harder to turn this Georgian into a beadboard-clad beach house.

In the interest of taking this house back to 1925 and achieving legitimate colonial revival style - symmetry, built ins, simple paneling and moulding, wrought iron and brass - we need to finish the construction efforts by procuring hardware and lighting true to the house. Hence, moving target on the budget front.

I'm not exactly sure why or how we assumed that "sprucing up" our new little house was going to be a simple endeavor. Maybe because we know how to do most of the work with our own hands, it seems easier than it actually is. Maybe we pushed memories of the condo reno to the deep recesses of our brains. Maybe we are insane.

Insanity aside, I have fond memories of rehabbing the condo. We were weary masters of demo. We laid hardwood and nailed trim. We painted. We installed floor and wall travertine, marble and subway tile. We grouted like champions. We ate from a coleman cooler and brushed our teeth in the tub for the sixteen weeks before our wedding. We fell asleep to the DIY network every night.

Good times. [sigh]

Good times are here again, but this time with the help of a master carpenter and an incredibly tenatious family member. I'm more balanced now that the deconstruction is over. The last few weeks have been insane. Last time we attempted such a feat, we didn't have a toddler.

We need to have the condo ready for renters by July 30 and I anticipate a meltdown or two before then. Hopefully, I'm more realistic about what I can handle as that day approaches. If not, I'm sure I will let you know all about it.

Has anyone else dared endeavor to do something similarly crazy? Please post a comment and share your fuss with us.

What the Fuss? Magic Eraser

I thought about buying these every time I saw the commercial. So one day whilst Peapodding, I threw a box in my basket. $6.99 for four "magic" bullets seemed reasonable to me.

I left the box unopened under the kitchen sink until the day we closed on our house. It was then that I realized I would need to start showing the condo to prospective renters and needed to be in tip top condition.

Everything looked reasonably new, but for the lengthy, bendy hallway that stretched past the bathrooms, laundry room and to the front door. Streaks, scratches and suitcase wheel rubber all over the damn place. Good thing I have no touch up paint left and no one in a ninety-mile radius carries Pratt & Lambert anymore.

I was about to cry when I remembered the Magic Erasers stashed under the sink. I was 100% expecting a massive let-down, but had nothing to lose.

Hot damn. We have a winner! The magic erasers (I used two in the process) completely removed every single one of the hundreds of marks on my butter yellow walls and stark white closet doors.

If you have a situation, or just want to make an average day of cleaning a cinch, I suggest you try a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. You won't be disappointed. I haven't found a mark it can't handle.

Have you used these miracle sponges to erase a fierce mistake? What was it? Please post a comment and share your fuss with us.