Tuesday Is No Longer The Weekend.

I am failing to understand why she is no longer in Chicago.

Please pardon the fact that I did not post yesterday morning: I was having way too much of a weekend to be bothered with things like computers (and showers).

My college bestie came to visit, and we proceeded to engage in activities that our 19 year-old selves would've popped eyeballs over. For instance, pushing a double stroller through a tree-lined neighborhood. Convincing a toddler to finish her corndog. Asking (for the thousandth time) if anyone needs to use the potty.

Maybe that last one isn't so different.

A baby's hours are not unlike a collegiate's.

We also did some very grownup things, like getting drinks at The Violet Hour. And falling asleep on the couch in front of a movie.

And thanks to that same bestie, Peej and I were able to go out for an anniversary dinner at Schwa (because my husband transcends limitations like Impossible To Get Reservations At and Volatile Chef Who Sometimes Decides Not To Open Said Restaurant)- but that stellar dinner is another post in the making. And everyone already knows how much I adore my supra-cool husband.

And even though we utterly failed at finding beach parking (but witnessed the absolute worst of humanity in the form of a U-turn cutoff, stolen parking spot, and subsequent terrible behavior in front of their own kids), we still enjoyed the gorgeously hot weather and exceptional company.

Only Auntie Kivvy will do.

So many, many thanks to the men and women who gave their lives to provide not only a long weekend's break but to keep our country safe. Which frees me up to write about completely inconsequential things like what I ate for my nine course meal. (Black truffles.)

As Nora said- Oh, thank you soldiers.

While she devoured a rapidly melting cup of ice cream.

But it was from the heart.

Grateful. And full of sugar.

Guest Blog: Little Stories Everywhere.

Today is a first for me: a guest blog! My pal Molly at Little Stories Everywhere is a riot- and has the exact same parental neuroses as me. It's refreshing. Enjoy!

***

Molly and her positively edible kiddos.

When you have a baby there are scores of things that people never tell you...things that are ugly, horrible and completely disgusting.  One of these sad truths is venturing out to the Pediatricians office for the first time.  It was...hmmm....an experience.

Bitzy was only 4 days old when we ventured out to the Pediatricians office.  Take in mind that I was still bleeding profusely (that's one of those sad disgusting truths that no one told me about, or perhaps I just ignored them), my emotions were doing jumping jacks, and as a new mama, my baby was much too young to be going anywhere.

It also didn't help that my baby girl came out of my body screaming her brains out and didn't stop until she was 6 months old. So there's that.

But alas, we  had to do it.  This wasn't the first time that we had been in the office as we had come to check it out when I was preggers, but this was the first time with a precious little person that was outside of my body, who, might I add, elicits a strong fear of germs in me with each step outside of the house.  I used to notice wall colors and vases in the homes, offices, stores & restaurants...not anymore.  Now I hone in on anyone who is coughing, rubbing their eyes, or breathing too heavy. "Hello people, I have a newborn!  Stay inside you nasty selfish people!!!," I wanted say.  

So anyway, at Bitzy's first appointment I noticed that there was a "well side" and a "sick side" thinking, "Oh that's nice that the germy little monsters can't get near my precious & perfectly healthy child."  I went on my merry way trying to make it through the appointment with a screaming baby eyeing every child in there, looking for cues to their unhealthiness. At that first appointment, one thing was clear, I didn't want to ever be on the "sick" side of this office.  The "sick" side is germy, dark and stuffy with the stench of dirty diapers and vomit. However, the "well" side was bright, healthy, and breezy that smelled of clean laundry and lavender.

Then it happened.  At the tiny age of 12 weeks old, my perfect baby came down with a cold.  I, being a completely insane mother called the office and asked for her to be seen.  While they discouraged me because after all, they couldn't do anything for her, I still wanted to go.  It was HEARTBREAKING seeing my baby with a stuffy nose and darn it, they should know how to magically make her better.  "What did they go to medical school for anyway?!  Come on! Again, people of the world, I have a newborn baby. Make her feel better!," I'm sure I said under my breath. (I think it's safe to say that with a sick, colicky baby I was a real treat in those first few weeks). 

So off we went, what I didn't remember was the awful "sick side."

As we walked into the foyer I automatically turned left into the "well side"...then pausing to the remember that runny noses are normally not a sign of perfect health. Sadly, we turned right into dark grimy sidewalk to Germville.  As I looked into the room I didn't see children, I saw germs.  My perfect child didn't belong in there!  She deserved her own room away from all the gross germys.  I practically buried her head in my chest to somehow keep the germs away.  It didn't help that every child in the room seemed to be hacking up a lung. Gross.

But alas, we made it.  Basically I paid $30 for them to tell me that there's nothing they could do and to be scarred for life after sitting in the "sick side."  I would rather wait in line at "The Wal-Mart" for an hour than spend 5 minutes in that nasty room...although something tells me that when we've got child #4 under our belts I'll just be happy to sit anywhere...even on the sick side.

***

Love Molly? Go check out her fabulous blog- and don't forget to "like" her Facebook page!

But Who's Watching The Baby?

My favorite blue-eyed cherub...

...And her jaunts to the park...

...With her two babysitters. 

It's Like A Staycation Where You Leave.

Maxin' and relaxin'. Circa 1988.

Last night, I  babysat for our neighbor’s sleeping toddler. Nora does NOT know about my evening’s whereabouts and, since their Emily is her BFFAEEMTMWYNT (Best friend forever and ever ever, Mom, take me with you next time), she will NEVER know. The Coopers and the Schoenys do a childcare swap every now and again. And it’s amazing. Because, for real? I have going-out needs. So do the Coopers. But I imagine that they have the same kinda We Should Prolly Pay These Bills needs, too. It’s a truly great arrangement, except for the one teensy annoying detail of We Can Never Go Out With The Coopers. Who are our only friends in the neighborhood, unless you count the drunken dude on my stoop.

Which I do not.

Back to my evening of babysitting. Susannah stayed home with Peej and Nora since she fell asleep right after dinner. Plus, I didn’t want to deprive P.J. of that all-too-critical 3 month-old and Dad bonding time between the hours of 7 and 11pm.

So I was alone. On a couch, with tons of projects that I didn’t even HAVE to do if I didn’t feel like it, and the knowledge that my arms were free to flail about (at any time!) because I was not laden down with any person, toddler, or baby of my very own…

…And since their kiddo is quite possibly the easiest child ever EVER ever, well, I kinda felt like I hit the luxury jackpot.

I finished my thank you notes. (God, I’m boring MYSELF right now.)

Got a little writing done.

Rendezvoused with Professor Layton and my old pal the DS.

Spent a little more time flailing my arms.

Hydrated. (See? Who SAYS I people can’t follow through on New Year’s Resolutions?)

Leaned back on my arms- which one CANNOT do whilst holding a child of any size.

And then wondered if Suzy was eating okay. And if Nora was feeling better from the previous day’s awful cold. Speculated on whether or not P.J. was watching something on Netflix- and if it was something we were gonna see together. These kind of thoughts can quickly derail the spa-like effect of laying still by oneself.

I overcame and was victorious. It was an incredibly relaxing evening.

Unless you’re P.J., reading this at this very moment. Then, I am exhausted from the trials and tribulations of childcare.

But if you’re Tim and Angie- can you go out again tonight?

Okay, Girls...Naptime!

Both had late nights this weekend.

I feel like today is the first day of a new job that I've really wanted for a super long time...and for which I may or may not have padded my resume a tad.

In a nutshell, I am alone with my children for the first time ever. EVER. Which is a truly bizarre thing to say.

We have had nonstop family and friends are constant helpers/personal slaves for the past three weeks. (Which is also bizarre. Yet wonderful.) I miss our Moms/my sister/Bethany already. But, strangely, I'm also looking forward to the end of the "newness." It's hard to have something feel like your day to day life if it also feels mildly like a vacation. I guess I need it to feel less nice so that it feels more comfy.

I swear I am not depressed.

Also, I've been looking forward to mopping and wiping things down so that they feel like mine again. Yes, I miss cleaning up my household messes.

I swear I am not crazy.

I am, however, rather tired. For longer than my semblance of normalcy will allow me to admit, I'd been planning a small shindig for P.J.'s upcoming 30th birthday. I knew I wanted a Guys' Night Out- and I knew that I wanted it free of Guys who would turn it into A Night In Jail. Plus, there was the fact that I'd be 2.5 weeks postpartum and completely unable to ring in his new decade the way he thoroughly deserves. So. Yes. And since he's UTTERLY impossible to buy for or plan for without the dollar bill signs over his head or the wad of coupons in his pocket warring with any type of romantic gesture I've got cooking...I thought it might be nice to surprise him with this little gathering.

Arranging for a handful of his closest friends (one whom flew in from NYC for the weekend!) and a couple of cases of Shiner Bock to be at a divey pool hall in our 'hood on Saturday night was pretty easy. A little tougher was the flying leap I needed to take every time my phone buzzed for the past month. Not really sure how I would have explained the nonstop texts and emails from his pals...although he was too tired to notice how often my phone was pinging in the middle of the night. (Don't you people sleep? Go to bed!) It's pretty safe to say he would have laughingly ruled out an affair- although, pal, some people LIKE girls in sweatpants. A LOT.

I thought I was in the clear until, oh, the night before the party, when two of his closest friends TEXTED HIM AT 2AM FOR NO REASON WITHIN ONE MINUTE OF EACH OTHER. P.J. had just changed Suzy and had handed her to me when he saw the blinking light on his phone.

"Oh," he said. "Neil and Nate both just texted me!"

Ever seen a girl lunge across a bed with a baby actually attached to her? It's not for all viewing audiences.

Realizing I couldn't nonchalantly bat his phone away, I went for uber-casual.

"Oh yeah? What did they say?"

"They said hi. That's funny."

"IT SURE IS!"

"I wonder why they both texted me at the same time?"

"Honey," I told him. "They're drunk." (Prove me wrong, Nate and Neil.)

He was satisfied with this answer, and- even though his curiosity was piqued- I rested assured that P.J. had no idea what was coming the following night...when I promptly thwapped the guys upside the head for choosing the night before a surprise party to be all nostalgic. AND DRUNK.

That said, he was surprised- or played the part convincingly- and now we can all go back to our regularly scheduled 10pm bedtimes.

Even planning other people's late nights wears me out. Heck, even remembering the planning wears me out.

Hence, the sweatpants.

Which may just be my favorite typed sentence EVER.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig!

The New Normal.

This is the first time- in recent memory- when I've posted this blog with the extremely attentive help of a toddler (hell-bent on showing me each rattle in her sister's collection) and a newborn (hell-bent on making me stare at her face for no urgent reason whatsoever).

Okay, that last issue is totally mine.

Maybe it's the Norco, and maybe it's the wild amount of cooking/cleaning/Mother Hen help I've been getting from my Mom (and my Dad and my husband...) but I think this Two Kid thing is absolutely neato.

Nora has gone from curiosity ("Is that Baby Sister Susenanna?") to horror ("Do you want to hold the baby?" "Oh NOOOO.") to pleasure at having a new baby doll on which to pile hats and scarves and shaky toys. Plus, I held The Little for most of the weekend, freeing P.J. up for pretty much anything The Big could ask of him. Like sitting still and holding her.

Susannah, for her part, is impossibly good. She's mellow, happy as a clam to be held by anyone, and slept for two 4.5 hour stretches last night, waking for a paltry fifteen minute late night snack in between. I like her more than myself right now. I also have a minor obsession with her shock of pale yellow ducky hair. It is awesome and I will cry myself to sleep when it falls out.

Back to the sleep thing. For this kiddo, I had purchased a ridonkulously cheap (five dollars) co-sleeper that slides in bed between the two of us. It's the greatest thing since sliced bread for so many reasons:

a) I am, at heart, a humongo hippie. (Sigh.)
b) The first 17 months of the pregnancy and ending fifteen months are still SO vivid in my mind that it's kinda cool if Peej and I just high-five for a little while.
c) It sure beats the fright fest that was letting newborn Nora loll around between us in the middle of the night. Ah, first time parentude.

So, this co-sleeper business allows me the dual purpose of indulging my selfish desire to not get out of bed all night and the peace of mind that I won't trample her in my sleep. Glorious. Plus, she sleeps exceptionally well in it, which would equal a tremendous amount of sleep for all of us if I were not afflicted with the twice-hourly desire to awaken, wondering a) why she's sleeping so well and b) how she's so goshdarn cute. 'Cause seriously, it's an issue.

We've also been having fun playing around with her nicknames- because, for real, how can you nickname   someone before you've seen them laugh? And while we love the name Susannah, it's an awfully big one for such a teensy brownie bite. (Also- I live to nickname.) Our standard has become Suzy (with a Z, not an Sie, because I want to keep her on her toes. Also, it looks cooler in print). But we've also been rocking the 'Zuzu,' because we apparently adore naming our children after Golden Era Cinema females. (Zuzu's petals, anyone?) 'Miss Mae' has made an appearance, as has the hilariously sleep-deprived choice of 'Shumai.' I think Peej may have just been hungry, though.

And by the way? We love you. It's unreal how wonderful people have been in terms of cards, messages, calls, flowers, food, and sweet offers to take Nora places.

And these aren't even from people who gave birth to me.

(Not entirely, anyway.)

It's fabulous, and would make me feel warm and fuzzy even without the post-op drugs.

Really.

Date Night Month Meets Tired Parents And Toddler

I shall not be moved.

Remember waaay back in the Fall of '09, pre-Nora Junebug Jane, to be exact? We deemed that frantic and aggressively fun time Date Night Month. It was great. It was fulfilling. And- as it turns out- it was a completely unnecessary step for which to greet a new baby. In retrospect, we probably should have saved those pennies for things like diapers, wipes, and boxes of Franzia. (Having a baby is stressful.)

Past helpful knowledge totally disregarded, I've been attempting to repeat the same activities (sorta) with Nora and Peej this month. I call it Oh My God, Let's Do Something Fun With Nora While We Still Have [A Little] Energy Left And She Can Recall SOME Happiness From Her Early Years.

We have largely failed with this. Namely because we are already zonked. Sorry, N.J.

This weekend was an attempt to rectify at least a little bit of this situation.

The Lincoln Square Apple Festival was going on, as was a promotion for a ton of area museums through the Smithsonian (P.J. misses nothing on the internets), so obviously we decided this was a perfect opportunity to take our toddler to the Planetarium. All in the same morning. In addition, the weather alternated between torrential downpour, blazing heat, and frigid winds. So, regardless of the current weather, I had inappropriately dressed/prepared my family/myself. It felt good.

Despite all of this, the day was fabulous. Nora was really stoked to find that her neighbor/bestie Emily was at the fest with her folks. Also that there was a booth with vintage toys for kids to play with. And apple pie slices as big as a smallish child. (Darn you, diabetes! I could have done some damage at this place.) Duck confit was also available, obviously, as well as gargantuan bags of the bestest apples in the Midwest. (I have a serious apple problem lately. Which is only a "problem" if I don't pair them with some carbs. I am such a bore lately.)

We set out to the Adler Planetarium about an hour later than intended, which had the obviously terrific result of a tired kiddo and two Determined Parents. And because I adore my husband, I will not mention the hilarious carnival ride called Rotary Parking And/Or Jockeying With Inept/Aged/Outta Town Drivers. (Think Peej is all laid back charm? Try either taking away his chocolate malt or messing with his driving mojo. He becomes The Hulk in corduroys.)

Onto the museum. Things Nora Liked: Lights, Stars, Running Amok. Things Nora Did NOT Like: Taking Turns, Being Carried, Not Being Able To Touch The Sun.

We'll try again later.

The rest of the weekend was a lovely amalgamation of naps, snacks, Sunday comics on the couch, stellar music in the speakers, and really, really good dinners. Nora had some Emily playtime yesterday afternoon while her folks had a day date (Brilliant! DAY dates!) and everyone went to bed [relatively] early with the appropriate reading material.

We. Are. Hell. Raisers.

(But rested ones. So there's that.)

She Really Wanted To Go On Pharaoh's Fury, Though.

 One of my best friends in the whole wide world (and her equally fabulous husband) spent the weekend with us. Vicky was one of my college modmates- like roommates but awesomer- and my how things have changed since Hampshire.

For starters, I have a kid now. And this was their first time meeting her. Our activities have been- ah- slightly different since Nora came along, and this was Vicky and Dave's chance to see what a "typical" weekend with Miss N.J. looks like.

This weekend, it involved a street carnival on Irving Park. And it was Nora's first one. But since it had a petting zoo, we felt that she'd really dig it and not be too overwhelmed by the rides and noise. Nora, not Vicky.

So while Dave was busy getting culture downtown (the girls initially skipped out because we wanted to nap while Peej had his matinee)...              

...We had some street fair time. And boy, did we misjudge on the petting zoo. Despite housing some of the world's smallest and cutest animals (baby goats, ducks, lop-eared bunnies, a calf, a donkey, and a confused piglet), Nora hated it. Cowered from the bun. Had to be rescued from the advances of the calf (thank you, Vicky)! Denied eye contact to the goats (which were literally half her size). We moved on.

So we tried the carousel. Despite its shockingly fast speed (maybe I'm just getting old), she definitely wanted to try it out. And she chose one pony. And then another. And then applauded them. And applauded us. And her Dad. 

So we went on it again.

We would've stayed on it all day, if one of us had gotten her way.

So we tried the baby Ferris wheel. (Looks like Peej has found his amusement park partner in crime at last.)

And no, Ferris Wheel, I wasn't thinking about riding, due to my "exceptionally large" size.

But it's always hard to leave a ride.

Really, really hard.

But thankfully, there are always gonna be corn dogs.

Aaand...by posting time it's partly sunny.

Not to be all whiny about the weather...but seriously. What is up with this weather?

Having lived in Chicago for 8.5 years (yeah, it was originally supposed to be for under a year), this should not surprise me. Chicago does not have a Spring. We have seven months of Winter, followed by a week of rain, then it is SUMMER. But each and every year I find myself surprised- nay, angered- by the lack of springtimeliness.

Last week was a tease. A 70 degree (and sunny!?) day followed by a mid-60s (and SUNNY) day, followed by...grey sludgery.

Here is a vid from those happier moments. Nora had a superb time catching and playing with her shadow. Yes, those are the big sister jammies from the other day. And double yes, we're listening to an "End of Summer" mix tape of P.J.'s from high school. (We've recently gotten into playing our old teenaged/party/breakup mixes. This is an awesome thing to do. Also warranting of its own post.)

But, video:

Today is another jammie day, due to the fact that sludgery plus [Nora's] runny nose equals lolling about and [Keely's] whining re: weather. No sunshine, no shadows. What we do have is one snortle-y girl wearing an ever-changing assortment of bibs for which to dab her faucet-like nose. (Is that gross? I mean, I know that it is, but should I not have mentioned it?) I am keeping it REAL. Tissues are 'spensive and bibs have a never-ending dance into and out of the wash.

It's like a velcroed handkerchief. If I am gross, then so is the pocket handkerchief.

Onwards.

We saw some terrific friends this weekend, ate way too much decadent food, (hosted no less than three other pregnant women!), and watched five kids run amok. And walk amok. And climb amok. My daughter wore a miniature apron (because she was the hostess, obvie), and I completely failed to capture it on film. I mean, really. I took eight videos of her dancing with her shadow and a flipbook's worth of swingset pictures...but a day when my child held and ate entire potatoes and welcomed folks in a frilly apron? Nada.

Also, some of you may be aware of my ever-abiding distaste for the potato. (I dig them in things, but a plain potato undisguised? Blech.) We recently discovered that Nora loves them. Adores them. Eats them whole, like an apple, then points for more.

I'm questioning maternity.

And wondering if this next kiddo could possibly be a little more like his/her dark-haired taco fiend of a mother.

Or healthy. I'd be pleased with "healthy."

Which I'm sure a strict diet of liverwurst and Italian ice will guarantee.

Mrs. Innes Thinks I'm Special- (my pencil says so.)

The blog is up mighty early today, I realize. 

There are few people in this world for whom I would early-blog. (Actually, it's a pretty vast category, but as it's a rather benign request I'd be more inclined to say no. And depending on the hour in which you asked me, it might not be as pleasant as all that. But why are we arguing so early?) My point is, my darling pal Lori- ahem, Mrs. Innes- asked if she could use my blog as a creative writing example for her AP Language and Comp class.

Just let that sink in for a second. 

Of course I agreed- happily- and then instantly wondered if I should go back and edit three years of incredibly loose grammar and imaginary words. Laziness won out. 

So, APLn'C class- welcome. Stay in school. Learn really important things, like how one should never begin a sentence with 'and.' And then how it's sometimes okay to write in your own style, anyhow. Go easy on the commas and other such punctuation. (I realize that this is reading like a letter to myself, circa last week.) 

A great rule of thumb for making up a person's nickname is as follows: Adjective Hyphen Noun, Part of Name (this is what lends gravity), Adjective Hyphen Noun. All is true. For instance: Radface McAwesomepants. Lady Spitup Von Chickenlegs. (Actual names used in this blog, the latter being my baby.) In cases such as the second, the first adjective can be replaced with a title signifying royalty. I am not the one making up these rules. And "creative words" such as j'accusity and blahdiblah are a success only if they need no further explanation.

I also talk a lot about Mayor McCheese. Occasionally The Hamburglar. But NEVER Birdie the Early Bird, that minx. 

That's it. Those are all of my secrets and the sum of my writing knowledge. You're welcome and I'm sorry.

Feel free to go browse some of my more "cohesive" posts or ones with "through-lines." Perhaps ones that don't "ramble." (Good luck.) 

Or...how about tales of your teacher when SHE was in high school? Yeah? 

Okay, I can't really go nuts on the storytelling for a few reasons: 

a) She's really, really strong. Quite possibly a lot stronger than she looks. Which is strong.

b) She was always popular. Which is insanely annoying. Even worse? Here was her secret: She was nice to everybody. She was fabulous to people so they liked her a ton. Jerk.

c) She has way worse stories on me, from fashion to dating to questionable hobbies. And besides- I was the "funny friend." You know the one. Not hilarious enough to be the ridiculously cool kid who happened to be funny- usually reserved for the varsity soccer captain whom, every now and then, said something witty and unbelievably well-timed- but the other one. The girl who sat behind the awesome girl in AP History and blurted out [what she thought were] appropriate quips regarding the Civil War? Yeah. 

But I will leave you with this fabulous image, forever to be sealed into your retinas...I give you Middle School, 1992.

That's right, shells. I won 6th grade.

And just how did she manage to make her oversized sweater looks less awkward than mine? She has POWERS.

Anyway, yes. Creative writing. 

It is my hope of hopes that I have not yet stunted your capacity for words nor your predilection toward actual, legitimate linguistics. 

Happy Thursday.

January must be Customer Service Month.

It was a good, albeit frigid, weekend here. We actually saw more people than we do for some combined weeks.

We went with one pal to an awesome creperie up the street from here- I highly recommend it. Nora also gave it two miniature thumbs way up- but they're covered in cheese, so I wouldn't shake her hand or anything. There was a bit of a language barrier, so my Moroccan chai latte actually came as a fresh mint infusion- but happily, I'm a superbly easygoing diner. Also- he must have known that I actually needed mint more than all that sugar.

Our neighbor friends invited us over for dinner- again! (Okay, for any newcomers: we have one set of friendly neighbors that a) are sober, b) speak some semblance of English- heck, I'd take sober Spanish at this point, and c) have repeatedly made plans with us. This is great. What's even better is that, beyond those three stellar qualifications, they're actually superbly cool people who have an adorable one year old. That's right- they even come with a friend for our kid. And sure, Nora and Emily spent the better part of the evening shrieking directly into each others' faces...but I think that toddlers have a really intricate and evolved way of communicating. Besides- they made TACOS for dinner!

Another good friend came over for sugary treats a la El Trigal Bakery- the place where I get a a tote bag full of pastries and cookies for under five bucks total- and gabbed about her currently preggo form. Attention friends: a really cool way to be in my heart forever? Walk in the door and announce- Keely, you were right. Pregnancy is work! (Now, I don't want to be a Negative Nancy, nor do I want to take credit for others' hardships...but every now and again it's nice to be reminded how much of a hypochondriac I am not.)

Here's what else made this weekend deserving of a super silver star: I went shopping. Alone. For fun. Sure, it was at the Marshall's at Harlem and Irving (read: not "fancy" or "clean"), but boy oh boy, do they have clothing for grownups that aren't necessarily hoodies and sweatpants! Although they have those, too! In fact, I specifically went out for items that were cheap, pretty, and "grownup." (Is the fact that it's in quotes give away how novel that type of clothing might be?)

I filled a cart with sweater dresses, ruffled tops, skinny jeans (hahahahahahaha), and soft wrappy-type things that should not be anywhere within the vicinity of a child's hands. Even though I intended to only buy four items, I wanted to make sure I tried on everything in the Misses, Petite and Juniors section. (Shush.) When I went to try them on, though, I encountered a problem in the form of a really elderly, really non-English-speaking woman. (Seriously, I don't even know what language she spoke. She was THAT old.) She was, however, perfectly clear about the Ten Items Or Less rule. It was even written on the tag. No worries, I'd just take ten items and move the cart to- nope. That angry finger didn't want me to leave the cart anywhere near the changing room. Certainly not by the entrance. We compromised by having me shove it behind a rack of shoes, one store section away.

Now I couldn't enjoy the art of shoving myself into questionable clothing- complete with nerve-destroying staticky hair- because I kept thinking about the THIEVES who were at that very moment STEALING CLOTHING FROM MY CART.

The next problem came when two of the items actually fit me in the first round. Uh oh. Now I had only eight items that I could take in for the next bunch. Because, as the lady sorta babbled at me, I couldn't have more than ten. And they wouldn't watch my cart. (Basically, her job was to stand there and irately fling tags at people. And yell 'no.' Nora would rock that job.) Unfortunately, a couple of other items fit me as well- and though I couldn't afford to buy everything that fit, I wanted the good stuff on hand for the Lightning Round. So the next handful only contained six items. And so on. Eventually I was taking pieces in one at a time, getting fully dressed and putting my boots and coats back on, because NO PERSONAL ITEMS LEFT IN STALL.

I finally approached the woman in a Not Very Polite way, one boot half on, my hair standing up to the fluorescent lights and pointed at an empty rack. "I am putting my clothing here. I am buying them." (I lied.) "All?" "Yup." (Nope.) "And I am taking these items from my cart into the stall. I am trying all of them on, all in the same go-round." "Only ten." "I KNOW."

Tried them on, feeling pret-ty proud of my ability to stand up for myself after half an hour of abuse. That is, until, I came out of the changing room to find multiple girls taking items from the clothing rack! Again, channeling my daughter, I pleasantly grabbed the items from their arms with a big 'ol smile.

And I bought six. (Which, as P.J. pointed out, is totally fine for my once a year shopping trip.)

We rounded out the weekend by having a decidedly grownup date night after N.J. went to bed. We made Manhattans- extra cherry juice, thankyouverymuch- and put on a DVD of 'Double Wedding,' a glorious old movie with Myrna Loy and William Powell. We loved it so much that we...

...conked out and drooled on each others' sweats before the opening credits finished.

Happy Monday, grownups.

Time for smaller jorts!

I was all set this morning. Yep, I knew what issues were going to be blown to smithereens and how pointedly- and yet self-deprecatingly- I was gonna lay it down.

And then Nora needed breakfast. Again. (Just like yesterday!) And then while she was playing so happily with a mixture of kitchen utensils and bath books, I decided it was a good time to work out; i.e. thwack at the Wii Fit with a half-dead Wiimote. 

And after the usual guff from the console- ("Oh, hello, P.J. Wait, is that Keely? It's been SO LONG." =actual 'tude.)- I did the body test where, most mornings, it tells me that I'm overweight, am on a fast track to hunchbackville and limp like a pirate with a peg leg. 

But today- the day where I had been utterly prepared to rip into the notion of losing the "last five pounds" (bones become heavier after babies, I was gonna say) and magazines and self worth and fitness and the fact that the ice cream cartons in our freezer seem to be multiplying and making delicious offspring- on THIS day...the Wii Fit informed me that I'd met my goal.

My pre-baby weight. 

Kinda. 'Cause- and this is a huge Schoeny family secret- we lie to the Wii Fit. When it asks what kind of clothing we're wearing to work out...we tell it "parkas." No joke. Our console thinks we're doing yoga in the Arctic Circle. (They shouldn't give you the OPTION if they don't want you to take it.) So, I guess I'm pre-baby weight plus some winter gear. But- and this is the truly confusing part- I'd been lying to the Wii Fit for so long now that I can't remember if I had told it my true pre-kid weight or if I'd been adding "parka" since well before Nora came to play.

Serves me right. That said, I guess my bones lost weight. I am of some indeterminate poundage floating around my "ideal" weight. (Which is a riot anyhow- what am I gonna do now? Wear an evening gown? A bikini? A Spandex unitard? Nope- still yoga pants and an earnest tee-shirt.) 

I'll be wearing an earnest shirt tonight, by the by, at the premiere of Snapshots 2010. My play, Right On Cue, starts the evening off! Care to join? It runs through Sunday with a two performances on Saturday night (one's late, for all those folks with other shows to perform, watch, write, whatever) and it will be a grand ol' time.

And speaking of grand 'ol (but youngish, too) times- fare thee well to one of my bestest pals, Miss Annie Gloyn, soon to be Martzell, moving to L.A., gettin' outta Dodge, leaving me fabulous furniture, also terrific memories for which the photos have long been destroyed....The kind of pal that doesn't need an event- hanging out is the event. When travesties or joyfulnesses occur, she's the one to bring a baked good, a scented candle and a hand-written note- she's also the kind to write a thank-you for a thank-you (and one time, even, for a thank-you.) She'll have a drink waiting for you at the bar and a spare toothbrush in the apartment. Yet, while all of these things are nice, they don't make a best friend.

Nearly eight years of trips, randomsauce sleepovers and impromptu dinner parties make a friend. But remembering and celebrating important, whimsical, trivial and teensy tiny things (like caring for an ice chip in the eye- with an ice pack/ how ferrets get fursty/ why certain napkins are for display and display ONLY)...those make a best friend.

One that I'm already missing dreadfully.

So, smooches, sugar- seeya in a couple of short months. I'll be the one in a divine bridesmaid's gown, drinking the best that Napa has to offer, and celebrating a happy couple.

If you're free, we should try to meet up.

That whole "noon" thing was really ambitious.

     This past weekend was a doozy.

     After a slight change in plans allowed me to attend our darling pal Caitlin's going away party at Mrs. Murphy's Irish Bistro (go rock the West Coast, sugar!), Peej, Nora and I left for Indiana eaaaaaarly Saturday morning.

     I'm pretty sure I'm a part time Indiana resident at this point.

     We headed to Bloomington for the wedding of Natalie and Dave- she of my Pilates-classes-gettin'-me-back-into-jeans-without-elastic fame. Also, Peej's high school friend. But I've commandeered her.
     Their wedding took place at the State Forest, overlooking a gorgeous dropoff full of foresty goodness. (Nora was surprisingly good during the service, although she did start singing to herself during the vows.)
     The reception was at the Museum of Art- kinda the most wundy place to have a party, ever, but also a locale where I was terribly afeared for my daughter's tendency to grab/poke/Frisbee things.
     She enjoyed an exceptional cocktail hour supper of canapes, cheese truffles, and some sort of rad sweet pea gazpacho. You know, typical baby food.
     THEN we handed her off to P.J.'s folks- who had driven in from Cincy for some solo Nora Jane time- and they took her back to the hotel to give her lollipops and ponies. (I don't know what grandparents do, but she's always really stoked after spending time with any of the four of them.)

     Seriously, the wedding- and the bride- was stunning. She's the kind of gal whom you look at and say- I could be like that someday.

     If I learned how to really do my hair.

     And wear better clothes.

     And acquire a completely different metabolism.

     Some other notable moments on the [10 hour total time in the car over 29 hours] trip: the extremely mellow group of collegiate kids outside of the Art Museum...on their backs, feet up against the wall, enjoying the atmosphere. Out of their gourds on some sort of substance rarely found in nature.
     Or the ladies who informed me on Sunday morning that Nora had been the prettiest girl at the previous night's event...and when I later found out they had attended the hotel's other wedding. 
     Or the colossal tip the Waffle House staff got after our darling girl tornadoed the facility with waffles, bacon, tomatoes and grits. (She eats everything.)
     Or the Mulch Castle on the side of the road in Indiana. Seriously, a castle with turrets and everything, with each spire full of a different kind of mulch. Stuff dreams are made of. At least mine. Minus the mulch. I don't dream of mulch. But I like reimagining castles.

     Happy Monday, everyone. Hope the week is lovely- enjoy nature and the last few weeks of summer.

     Find a building and lean upside down against it.

     Mood-enhancer optional.

     Nora prefers grits.

Friends: 0. (Sigh.)

At the risk of sounding like a fourteen year-old girl, I am going to start implementing some changes to my Facebook page.

Notably, my "friends." Notice the quotes. I do not put the quotes around my real friends. (I use my arms!) The former are people whom, if I happened to bump into, would most likely not recognize. My "friends" are people who could care less about my writing, my daughter, my husband, my "dream house" (more quotes!) or status updates regarding anything in the previous list. I shall delete with wild abandon, starting with:


People Who Are Stupid: Yes, on paper this sounds harsh (but on a webpage it's positively blinding). People who cannot spell, consistently fail to use punctuation (four sentences with nary a comma nor a period, por ejemplo) or who think THAT ALL CAPS IS ACCEPTABLE FOR STATUSES LONGER THAN A WORD. Quality of status is nice, too, but I thinking I'm aiming too high. Maybe we can put a kibosh on statuses that are the entire day's happenings, complete with color commentary and a tremendously abusive amount of 'lol,' j/k, 'hahahahahahahahahas,' and such.


This group is but a distant, stupid memory to me. Also:


The Malcontents: Yes, we all have gripes. I'm having one right now! But c'mon, peeps, if every single day is such a trial, perhaps you have bigger problems than "Monday again? DAMMIT!" The amount of people for whom each day's status is a complaint that it's "that" day...is simply staggering. And those are the folks who post all Sunday about how the weekend is almost over! So, Saturday at 11am is a good status-time, then? (Unless you're hungover. DAMMIT!)


And let's not forget...


The Flag-Wavers: I am consistently alarmed and amazed by the amount of so-called patriotic citizens on Facebook who could not give a fig about 80% of this nation's residents. Supporting our troops is great. I love America, our armed forces, the freedoms we enjoy and the ability to complain about it. But sometimes I want to ask the Flag Wavers whom, exactly, they think our troops are fighting to protect? If I go by status updates, I'd have to guess upper class, Republican, straight white dudes. Apparently everyone else is on their own. (Interesting to note: this group and the ALL CAPS ALL THE TIME gang do a lot of cross- mingling.)


Wow. That was, quite possibly, the most political I've ever gotten on here.


Let's take it back down a notch to-


The Rest Of The Bunch: The Haterz, The Drunks, The Pollyannas, The Loss-Of-Identity-My-Baby's-Pic-Has-Replaced-Mine-Procreators...oh, I could go on.


And yes, I'm highly aware of the fact that I break a ton of rules as well. I post about Nora like it's a part-time job (as someone snarkily asked me last week- "So, you have a kid?" DELETED!) My housing problems are the biggest deal in the world. I litter your homepage with blog posts. I'm [usually] irritatingly optimistic. My husband is hot.


These things annoy a ton of people. I understand.


However- and this is the crux o' the whole thing- if we are friends? Real friends? How-are-you-I'll-wait-for-a-response friends? These updates shouldn't be akin to nails on a chalkboard.


Just sayin'.


*****


Confidential to...anyone who hasn't deleted me by now:


Nora's five months old today/We had an ant "thing" in the house but Peej obliterated them/Went to a great dinner party with the extraordinarily tolerant bitsy babe/Met with the Lady Writers this weekend for brunch, ginger cocktails and superior writing/Had my butt handed to me in pilates- since it's still big enough to actually be handed, I should probably continue to go/I'm making this rad shrimp dish for din tonight/I managed to shower today- before noon!/Good God, are you still reading? We must be friends.


Hugs (with arms, not quotes),
Keely