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A very unhappy fathers’ day brunch

Ugh. What a disappointment.

Last December, I signed AO up for a sausage-making class in Chicago scheduled for the Saturday of Fathers’ Day weekend. I had thought we’d all make a weekend of it, but that was before we moved into the house that’s needed a lot of money spent on it, before the GAOOG generation set the date for her wedding and before we adopted a crazy dog. So, AO went it alone and trekked solo back & forth to Chicago on Saturday to make sausage. Of course Sunday, not Saturday, was Fathers’ Day, so I still felt we needed to do something to mark the occasion, but we’ve both been spent and overwhelmed by the house, the dog & the 2-year old, so I knew we weren’t up for much. Neighborhood brunch seemed doable and pleasant and something we’d been meaning to do for awhile. We decided on Tex Tubb’s Taco Palace, which is just a few blocks away. Neither of us had been in years and while we both remembered the food being kinda meh, we decided to give it a go. Boy, were we wrong.

The food, once I got some, was fairly delicious. The service and organization? Just shy of a fiasco. When we walked in, we were greeted rather indifferently by a hostess who put us at a table with menus and crayons. Crayons are always a nice touch, so despite the laissez faire attitude, I was optimistic. But then we were left to ourselves for a significant amount of time. Tick, tock. No water, no coffee, no server. People around us were served, coffees were refilled, food was delivered, people were asked if everything was going ok. We were not spoken to. Tick. Tock. I decided I needed to go ask the indifferent hostess what was going on. I was so thirsty and needed coffee! While the place had lots of other patrons, there were also many empty tables so I didn’t feel like it was a “Argh, we’re overwhelmed, please be patient” situation. It felt like we were in no man’s land server-wise. It started to feel very weird. And with a 2-year old, I always feel like we’re on borrowed time, so I decided action needed to be taken. So, I went back up to the front and asked the indifferent hostess. She asked me where we were sitting. I told her we were in the other room, along the back wall. She needed me to be more specific. Honestly, it’s not that big of a place and everyone else in the room had a server. I wanted to say, “At the table with no food, water or a server,” but instead told her it was the middle table. A short time later, a very nice woman with red hair brought us two waters (sorry, Molly) and told us our server would be with us shortly. After that, our server came by – without explanation or apology – and asked us if we wanted anything to drink. We did. We also ordered breakfast. Huevos rancheros for AO, migas sans sour cream for me & an egg in a slice of Madison Sourdough toast with a slice of bacon for Bear. All three dishes are served with breakfast potatoes.

And then we waited. It took awhile to get our coffees because, apparently, the pot ran out and they needed to brew more. Ok, I thought, at least they explained themselves. But odd. I mean, they serve breakfast starting at 8. It was 10ish. Seemed like things should be well-oiled by that time. Anyway, we keep waiting. Eventually, a third server brought AO’s huevos rancheros, but with rice & beans instead of potatoes (no explanation given) and Bear’s egg in toast with a small bowl of potatoes and no bacon (no explanation given). The server asked me if I had ordered anything. I told her, why yes, I had. “Oh, the migas!” she said. She then left us and we never saw her again. I asked AO & Molly to start eating. Why wait? It’ll be here soon. Uh, no. More than five minutes go by when I realized no one is coming back. Our server isn’t the least bit interested in us and neither is anyone else. I trudge back to the front (again) and ask if I’m going to be served. I almost started to cry because this was getting so embarrassing and felt like it was deliberate. I’d recently heard a This American Life episode in which David Sedaris tells Ira that he observes people being treated badly or ignored in restaurants and then makes fun of them in his stories (he was talking about how it took him a very long time to go out to eat alone because he feared he’d be ignored and end up the subject of a David Sedaris-esque story in someone else’s life). I worried this was happening to me. I ask the redhead and the hostess – who were together – about my meal and Bear’s bacon. The hostess pretty much immediately left to go into the kitchen. The kind redhead asked what I ordered and after I tell her, says, strangely, “Well, this is embarrassing, but we ran out of breakfast potatoes. Would you like sweet potato fries?” What? Aside from the fact that I never want sweet potato fries, what does this have to do with my migas? At that point, I didn’t even remember potatoes were supposed to come with the migas. I. Just. Want. Eggs. And Molly’s bacon. She asked if rice & beans would be ok instead. Sure. I stumbled back to the table, confused. After I relayed the perplexing explanation to AO, he said, “So, for the huevos rancheros, they just automatically subbed out the potatoes for the rice and beans I got, but they were totally stumped on how to handle the migas?” Argh. A short time later, the nice redhead came over to tell me that they would comp the cost of the migas. Which still hadn’t arrived. We ask for more coffee, though at this point I notice the bottom of my cup is full of coffee grounds. This request, too, is a production because the coffee mugs apparently have to be taken elsewhere to be refilled. There’s no portable pot to bring around. Coffee is then returned to us.

And still we wait. Molly is done with her breakfast, and AO is pushing things around his plate so I will still have someone to eat with if those eggs ever do come. Eventually, they arrive. And a sour creamy thing is in abundance on my plate. AO swiftly grabs my plate to remove the offending white stuff. The eggs, though, they’re tasty, but I’m feeling rushed because we’ve been there over an hour and we have a two-year old with us. Thankfully, Molly’s bacon also arrived (and then some – three strips instead of one), which bought us a little more time out of her.

All in all, the food was great, but the service ruined the whole thing. You see, I’m pretty forgiving. Especially when it comes to service mix ups. All I need is a sincere apology. And maybe an explanation. I’ve waited tables. At a Food Fight restaurant, no less! And I made mistakes. And I apologized and did my best to make up for it. I make mistakes every day: at work, with Molly, with AO, with the dog, with strangers, with the universe. Heck, I’m probably making a mistake right now. I don’t think I ask too much. Yesterday, though, Tex Tubb’s asked too much of me. And it didn’t feel good.

Sit

Published June 4, 2014 life and pups , toddler stuff 6 Comments

One of my very favorite things about the new dog has been going on a family walk around a gigantic “block” (it’s actually a couple but it sorta feels like one giant one) around our new house. AO probably just got a queasy feeling if he read that sentence. You see, Gertie is a giant dog with a loud bark, an anxious head and a very sweet heart. Walks have been a challenge because, at first, she would randomly and ferociously bark at other people. That has settled down a lot. Now, she will sometimes ferociously bark just at other dogs. Sometimes not. But when she does, her bark is scary and she pulls on the leash like a maniac. It’s a lot. AO took her to her first Barkers’ Workshop Monday night, so we’ll see if we can get some better results. Anyway, back to the walks. Why are they my favorite? Because when we walk around this gigantic multi-block block, we’ve been teaching Gertie to sit before we cross a street. She’s pretty good at it. Recently, though, Molly has decided that this means she should sit, too. It makes me laugh every time. At first, she would just squat, but now it has turned into full on sitting on the ground. Last night she insisted I do it, too. I. Love. It. Well, I don’t really love sitting down on the sidewalk for no real reason other than that my 2-year old instructed me to do so, but I do love the moment. I think Gert is going to be a good dog for us.

The way of the cloth diaper

Published May 21, 2014 baby stuff , life and pups , toddler stuff 3 Comments
Tags: cloth diapers, potty training, prefolds

Warning: super boring post alert. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Like some, I wasn’t sure I wanted to become a mom. I envied people, especially women, who knew with certainty that they wanted a kid. And those who knew they didn’t. I was so unsure. I could think of a million and one reasons not to: I would probably be a crappy mom, the kid could have health problems, Earth didn’t really need another human, it’s so expensive, I like to sleep. And I couldn’t really articulate a reason to have a kid. Other than that I thought I wanted one. In the end, of course, that one reason swallowed up all the countervailing reasons and we were beyond blessed with the monster we call Molly.

When I was pregnant, we took a free cloth diaper class recommended to us by AO’s friends. I’m sure it seems silly to old-timey folks to have to take a class on the art of putting cotton on a baby, but it was a new world to us and there are a billion choices out there. Plus, the class gives you pro tips like energy-efficient washers are not your friend in the cloth world where water is king. Anyway, the idea of wrapping Molly in cloth made me feel slightly better about the impact of adding a new human to the universe (yes, I know that sounds inconsistent with what I just said about water). Sure, it wouldn’t offset a lot, but it would be something. After the class, we told ourselves we thought we could do it, but if it proved to be too much of a challenge, we’d bail. We also told ourselves we’d buy disposables for family members who didn’t think they could handle the cloth if and when we had people look after Bear. Anyway, we plunged ahead with the most basic of the modern cloth diapers: the prefolds.* After Molly was born, we used disposables for about two weeks. We’d been given them as gifts, so we thought we’d use them. After two weeks, we were out and the cloth diapers sat perfectly folded staring at me menacingly. This coincided with the time that AO was going back to work. The world seemed cruel. Anyway, I plowed ahead and – to my surprise – I found that I loved the cloth diapers. They were super easy to use and easy to clean. I felt accomplished when I washed a load every three days or so. The world was great. At least when it came to diapering.

But then Molly got bigger and started sleeping for longer periods of time (thank goodness). This led to the problem of leaking. At night, she was soaking through her diaper into her pajamas and sheet. She didn’t seem to mind too much, but we did. And then she started getting a pretty nasty diaper rash that was really more blistery than rashy. After some research, I realized that what was probably happening was that she was not getting enough air flow at night and with all of the urine that was in contact with her (not a ton of wicking in the CD world), it was causing blistering. Poor thing. So, we swapped out our covers at night for more breathable bamboo and ultimately super awesome wool covers made from an Etsy shop. Problem = solved. Except that Molly kept getting bigger and was requiring more and more material to absorb all of her pee. Yikes.

Eventually, we upgraded to bigger and consequently more absorbent prefolds. But even these were no match for Molly’s bladder. Ultimately, we switched to super absorbent disposables at night and kept up with the cloth diapers during the day. This seemed like a good, if not ideal, solution.

Plod, plod, plod. Life. Went. On.

But then. Can you guess what happened? She started using the potty. More. And. More. We kinda just went with it. And by that I mean, we let her be potty trained at school, but we slacked in keeping up with it on the weekends. Then we had our May 2 parent-teacher conference at which we were told (a) Molly is pretty much considered a staff member (I think that might mean bossy) and (b) she’s ready for total potty training and we need to stop slacking (they did not use those words). So, because Molly was out at AO’s mom until early afternoon Saturday May 3, we decided to become serious about the whole thing May 4. We are nothing if not excellent procrastinators. Anyway, it’s been going pretty great since then and I’m kinda shocked. Yes, she has an accident now and then, but she’s definitely got a handle on it and I feel guilty for not listening to what we were being told earlier. Sigh.

What does this have to do with cloth diapers other than that of course potty training has everything to do with diapers? Well, now that we have her in a diaper for only her nap and bedtime, we don’t really think it makes sense to continue with cloth. It would be just one diaper a day. And because you don’t want to have dirty cloth diapers sitting around for more than a couple of days, and because ideally you don’t want to wash them with other soiled clothes, to continue with cloth would be doing a load of about three diapers every three days. That doesn’t seem very efficient. So, I think we’ve closed the chapter on our life with cloth diapers. It feels weird. They are still sitting in their bin in her room. They don’t stare at me menacingly anymore. Instead, they seem to stare at me pleadingly. “May I please become a dust rag?” “Will you send me to another family?” “Am I destined for something else entirely?” What do I tell them? I’m just not sure. Like I said, it feels weird. But that, it seems for us, is the way of the cloth diaper.

*Quick primer for those not in-the-know: prefolds are just a bunch of cotton cloths sewn together to make a thicker, more absorbent diaper. These days, you stick a prefold into a cover made of either PUL, wool, bamboo or fleece.

What goes best with Ikea decor?

Published May 5, 2014 home decorating , toddler stuff 10 Comments
Tags: firewood box, painting antiques

Antiques, of course! We decided to hit up the antique mall to continue our seemingly never-ending quest to furnish are new, much larger home that has come with much less built-in storage than our previous abode. I’m sure you know this, but a 1929 house does not have nearly the number or size of closets found in a 1985 condo. It’s just a fact of life. And we are meeting it head on by buying all sorts of wooden products to house all of the things we apparently deemed move-worthy. This includes books, of course, but also mason jars filled with lentils, Costco-sized paper towel bundles, Molly’s ever-expanding toy collection and a billion other things. Anyway, on Saturday we bought four things. The first of which I’ll feature here.

Do you know what this is?

According to the antique experts, this is a firewood box. We could use it as that, I suppose, because we do have a wood-burning fireplace, but we thought it would serve us better as a toy chest. We don’t have one and I’ve been really sick of looking at the laundry basket that has served as a de facto one. So, instead of dropping $250 for this one that I love, we bought the firewood box for $75. I didn’t really think the color said “fun and kid-like,” so I walked across the street to Sherwin Williams and bought some paint.

First, I lightly sanded the box and then primed it (AO reminded me to go over it with a wet rag in between these two steps. Oops).

I think white would have been a good choice

I think white would have looked nice.

Because I’m impatient, I did not wait anything close to the four hours the primer label told me to wait before painting. Instead, I waited maybe 45 minutes and then dove in. Ultimately, it took between two and three coats. I didn’t worry about it being smooth or too much about drips because the undercoat wasn’t smooth and, frankly, the box wasn’t exactly flawless in the first place. I’m really happy with the result.

Ta da!

We have three more pieces to pick up and at least one of them is calling out for my paint brush.

First chop

Published February 17, 2014 Madisonia , toddler stuff 4 Comments

I’d been saying for months that we needed to get Bear’s locks chopped, but I’d been procrastinating it for even longer. I finally decided that this past weekend was the time to do it and committed to a Sunday morning trip to Great Clips. I’d heard they’re good with kids, conveniently located and inexpensive. Sold. After having told me in December that he didn’t want me to get Bear’s hair cut without him there, AO said he didn’t really care that much after all. Especially when faced with the alternative option of a morning of alone time. I can’t blame him. So, on Sunday morning, Bear and I met Grandma Mary and Grandma Sev for brunch at Pasqual’s and followed it up with a quick trim. I had anticipated Bear would hate the whole experience (the haircut, not the brunch), but she was a total trooper. So brave!

Behold, an overly documented first trip to the salon:

Not a very good before shot

This finger-sucking thing just started that day.

I have lots and lot of video, too, but I’ll spare you.

It actually doesn’t look all that different, but I think she said she took about an inch and a half off. And she certainly evened out the chopped up (sorry, MBear) bangs. The videos really show how nervous Molly clearly was, but she didn’t cry or whine or even fidget all that much. As I said, such a trooper.

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