London Calling

Older Mom

Club Mom recently announced groups where moms can talk to someone like them.  There’s the dieting group (Trunkdumpers); the freebies/money group; the group for moms who had babies in 2005.  Today’s slap of reality for me is the “Moms 35 and Up” group with the following description:  Talk to other “older” moms about what’s going on in your life.  Older in comparison to what?

Bootcamp begins

Okay.  It’s time to get back into shape.  I miss a long weekend run and even more importantly, fitting into all of my clothes.  After I read my “Runners World” magazine this week, I ordered new running shoes and a cute hat to help with the motivation.  I also registered for the Northshore Half Marathon, which I’ve actually run twice.  Each time I struggled through the finish and vowed never to run it again.  Nonetheless, I drank the cool aide and I’m running it.

My biggest challenge is getting back to running in the morning.  Our precious baby likes to wake up really, really early.  Barry’s starting work this week and leaves the house at 4:30.  So, how can I run with a baby who wakes up anywhere between 5:30 and 7?  With permission from my best gal pal – who happens to be an educational psychologist and a runner – I am going to run (on a treadmill in the basement) in the morning around 5 and ignore our lovely son until 6. 

I must admit that this really freaks me out.  Will I scar him by not responding?  Will he learn to climb out of his crib and some how fall down a flight of stairs?  (I can hear the experienced moms snicker.)  Yes, I realize that he’ll be fine.  And, quite frankly, I’ve heard him cry over the drum of the treadmill before.  So, tomorrow is the test.  Wish us well.

2 a.m. Burrito

Is it wrong to be a 30-something mother & fancypants businessperson & have the occasional 2 a.m. burrito?  Probably not.  Still, this time, I felt a little silly.

Let’s start from the beginning:  date night.

We were sophisticated Wicker Parkians at the start.  Babysitter Beth arrived at 7:30 and just in time to put London to sleep.  We walked through the park to stop at the bank for cash and then went to Tavern for a cocktail followed by dinner at Café Absinthe.  To make a stance on the city’s ban of foie gras – and our love of a nice fatty piece of liver – we ordered the foie gras appetizer.  Barry ordered filet & I had scallops.  Between the two of us, we drank martinis, bubbly, Chateauneuf-du-Pape, Port and Scotch.  Bottom line:  we ate like kings, drank the best & enjoyed every minute. 

And this is where it all went wrong.

Beth had brought over her laundry.  By the time we finished dinner, she was probably only into her second load.  So, to be nice, we decided to go out for an after dinner drink.  This is when we dropped off our super chic Wicker Parkness and headed for Ola’s, a Polish bar in Ukrainian Village. 

There we sat drinking really strong Polish beer, scratching instant lottery tickets and talking to Frank & all of the other really sweet “mature” Polish guys.  Well, talking isn’t the best verb because most of these guys haven’t mastered more than a few words of English and at that point, neither were we.

We strolled home from our date, hand in hand, and stopped at Picante – the local open-till-four burrito joint – to finish the night off by splitting a burrito and guacamole. 

How does a 2 a.m. burrito feel so right before you become a mom?  When we walked through the door, I actually thought, “Wait.  I’m a mom.  This is so wrong.”  Of course it wasn’t the burrito that was “wrong,” but staying out until 2 a.m., eating a little too much and drinking a little too much that I was feeling guilty about.  Everything in moderation, right?  It may be years before I see another 2 a.m. burrito. 

Slave to the Edens Expressway

I’m back at work and glad to be exercising my brain a bit more these days.  Although I loved the relaxation and time with the boys, I needed to get back to work.  This week wasn’t too bad.  Traffic was light on Monday because of the holiday.  Tuesday traffic was miserable but made better by paczki day (brought in to the office from Alliance Bakery in Wicker Park).  Wednesday was a work-from-home day, but I left for the airport in the afternoon.  I was in Minneapolis which seems to have absolutely no traffic compared to the gridlock of Chicago.

Tomorrow’s traffic will be miserable – as any Chicago traffic can be on a Friday.  The good news is that Beth is babysitting & I HAVE A DATE WITH MY HUSBAND!!!!  Can you tell that I’m excited?  Knowing that we’ll be leaving this wonderful neighborhood makes our dinner decision more difficult, but I’m sure we’ll do what’s right.

Getting a schedule in place is a bit of a challenge.  London was a little wonder boy on Monday and stayed awake until 8 p.m.  I was so worried that I wouldn’t be able to kiss him goodnight!  I blew it on Tuesday & got home too late, but when he woke up at 10 p.m. looking for a pacifier, I stole a few kisses before I put him back to bed.  (Yeah, yeah.  I know that he's too old for a pacifier. We'll move on to that transition next.)  Wednesday I was out of town & tonight I made it back just in time for a little London love. 

I only managed to squeeze in two runs, but that’s not bad for a week with travel.  Unfortunately, I clogged my arteries with lots of cheese and salami leftover from a girlfriends night on Saturday.  Hopefully the red wine I drank along with it will even it all out.  At least that's what I tell myself over and over and over again.

Knowing that the commute is temporary keeps me sane.  Well, as sane as I’m gonna get.

Yeah Britney’s bald, but thanks to Melissa Etheridge, Kathy Bialecki is bald and proud.

Britney is bald and according to tabloids – or my husband’s “favorites” – she’s bald allover.  Great.  Whatever. 

My favorite bald lady is my mom, Kathy Bialecki.  She’s in year six of her battle with breast and ovarian cancer and the woman is a walking miracle.  I am so proud of her for having the guts to go through chemo THREE TIMES.  The first time she bought an expensive wig that was supposed to replicate her natural hair but really made her look much older than she is.  The second time around she had a little more fun.  She bought about six to eight wigs – all red – each in a different style.  Each wig was named after a woman.  So depending on her mood, my mom would wear “Kelly” or “Jennifer” or whoever she wanted to be that day.  The wigs were cheap and she had fun. 

At the end of her treatment when the wigs were getting itchy and she was just feeling beat up and her hair had just started to grow back, she saw Melissa Etheridge get onstage at the Grammy’s and sing without hair. 

My mom is strong.  My mom is stubborn.  My mom can be a little dramatic.  When she saw Melissa Etheridge without a wig, I think she really felt empowered.  The very next day at work, when her wig was itching and she was tired and work was stressful, she just took it off.  She took off her wig and enjoyed the comfort of the fresh air on her head.  Her only worry?  That she would scare her co-workers.  I would imagine that like Melissa Etheridge on Grammy night, she inspired them.

This time around the cancer is serious & so is my mom.  She has a mission and two beautiful grandsons that motivate her – along with a passion for the man upstairs.  She gave up the wigs and bought a bunch of beautiful hats that she pairs with scarves – always well coordinated with her outfit, purse and reading glasses.  When we were on vacation and it was hot and we were so comfortable and lazy and just enjoying ourselves, my mom tossed her caps.  She relaxed on the couch, played with London, sat under an umbrella on our patio – bald and proud. 

She was obviously comfortable around us and London just loves patting Ya-Ya’s bald head, but it was the staff at our hotel (Victoria House) that made the difference for her. She said that she felt like so many people in the U.S. saw her and looked away because they felt uncomfortable around her.  At Victoria House, she said that she never felt that way. And so she sat, proud and bald and beautiful. 

So yeah, Britney is bald. Big wup.

The Real World

Tomorrow my sabbatical ends.  I’ve enjoyed every minute and accomplished most of the “tasks” on my list:

• Watched London learn to walk
• Kissed him, hugged him and giggled with him as much as possible
• Relaxed during a great vacation
• Planned and ordered cabinets/appliances for our new kitchen
• Packed up a bunch of stuff for storage (mostly the kitchen)
• Took advantage of Pretty City’s spa deals and now have skin like a baby’s bottom
• Read a book and a few magazines
• Napped
• Lunched with my husband
• Enjoyed two grandma visits including one train adventure

Now it’s back to reality.  Tonight I packed next week’s lunch for London, ironed my clothes for my first day back at work and spent an hour or so researching online conversations related to the products my new/old company manufactures so that I’m at the top of my game in the morning. 

I’m excited to begin something new.

Meat Stick Avoidance: A boy and his hot dog

Our last two visits to our friendly but stern pediatrician included a lecture on food.  Little London was, well, little.  He was 19 lbs. 3 oz. at his 10-month appointment (just around the 25th percentile) and after a nasty bug over the holidays (which was my official entry into the mommy club ala barfed on/pooped on) he was only 19 lbs. 12 oz at his 12-month appointment.  Our new “beef up the baby” rules included:

• Limit milk (whole of course) to 16 oz a day so that he can focus on food
• Use heavy cream when we make his cereal
• Increase protein by any means (which includes jarred baby meats)
• Fruits & Veg are very important
• Lots of cheese & yogurt & eggs – I guess babies don’t have to worry about cholesterol.  Sounds like a diet made in heaven to me.
• Although he’ll eat carbs all day long, make sure he eats everything else first

So, I was okay with everything but the jarred baby meat.  Have you seen them?  Little jarred mini hot dogs.  For a family that occasionally grills an extra chicken breast for the dog (paired with white rice of course) this was a big adjustment – well, for me at least.  My comfort food loving husband was just fine with the jarred meat. 

So we’ve tried fish sticks and chicken nuggets (both homemade and store bought).  We’ve tried poached chicken and sausage – he loves the sausage.  And to my total disgust, he can finish off an entire jar of meat sticks in one sitting.  While I realize that there is something special about a boy and a hot dog (read into that as much as you want), I still hope that we can encourage him to love other meats.  So, I’ll keep the blender primed as I “hide” poached chicken in his pasta sauce or serve the pea/chicken puree on toast points that he loves so much. 

Does he love them? Does he love them not?

On this Valentine’s Day, my biggest question isn’t where we’ll go for dinner or what wonderful gift my husband will be giving me (inside joke – we went out to lunch & my “gift” was a nice big kiss), but what will my son enjoy eating today.  Two weeks ago he hated fish sticks and last week he hated fresh fish.  Today, he loves fish sticks and can’t get enough for his lunch.  Then for dinner, the pasta that he wouldn’t touch on Monday wasn’t getting into his mouth fast enough.  I had to heat up two extra servings.

Lesson learned:  just keep trying.  What he hated last week may be his new favorite food.  Still, I give up on polenta for now.  I’m too scarred. 

Happy Valentine's Day to all & best wishes for special kisses from the ones you love.

Snap back to reality. Oh there goes gravity.

We made it back to Chicago safely to a perfect house with pipes that were in great shape. Both the building next to us and the grade school next door had a problem with frozen pipes while we were gone and we were very happy to arrive home at midnight with a baby whose voice on the plane (and through airport security) made Aerosmith's Steven Tyler sound like a little girl, to running water and a working heater.

Our flight home was really challenging. At one point, my dad passed me an Ativan (beta blocker) and I thought he meant it for London. While I believe in a little Tylenol nighttime for baby, I wasn't quite ready to drug him. Then I realized that it was for me. Duh. And more importantly, why didn't he offer that earlier? No matter. We made it home & London slept for most of the last segment.

We're hybernating now and doing laundry. Sadly all of our summer clothes and bathing suits will be boxed up for a few months ... unless I can make up some wonderful excuse for another warm weather weekend. I'd just want something a little closer so that our strong willed son would have less time to tourture others on the plane.

Grandparents Rule

In September, when we booked our trip, we thought it would be a great idea to bring my parents along.  I had been working quite a bit and needed a vacation but didn't want to leave London at home.  I missed him!!!  At the same time, I wanted to spend time alone with my hubby.  So what's a girl who wants it all to do?  Invite the grandparents along.  And as odd as those two are, I would do it over again & again.  Benefits include:

• Grandparents love to spend time with the baby.  We have no guilt leaving him for the afternoon to go fishing or hang out alone.  That little boy is being spoiled rotten and loved like crazy when he's around his grandparents.
• Dinners out.  The old people eat early & we have a wonderful late dinner followed by a few cocktails.
• Drinking without guilt.  Grandma is almost always sober.  Grandpa is usually sober during the day.  So we have at least one responsible person in charge at all times.
• Sleeping in.  The grandparents offered to have baby sleep in their room.  At first we were going to move him back and forth, but it is so nice to hear him playing (or crying) and know that someone is taking care of him.  Then I roll over and go back to sleep. 
• We still get all of the good stuff.  We get to play in the pool with baby, take him for walks, kiss him, giggle with him, watch him see new things and taste new foods.

I must admit that the first few days we were extra cautious, but now we feel very comfortable with the old people spending as much alone time with the baby as they'd like.  I've even almost gotten over my fear of London being kidnapped.  (Thanks to Barry for planting that fear in my mind.)

London loves swimming with grandpa and cuddles with "Ya Ya" (grandma) any chance he gets.  He's reached for them when I'm holding him -- which is new -- and we know that he feels very comfortable around them. 

Now, if we could just get them to move closer to us at home, we'd be working this grandparent arrangement like crazy.