Mommy Must-Have: Cool Socks


Socks, you say? Yes. In my pre-baby days, I owned two varieties: thick, white ‘n ratty gym pairs, and manmade material brown and block work lady pairs. 

When Posey was a few months old, we started a music class together. Here’s the thing I never thought of– and nobody told me. At most mom/baby events (classes, story times, indoor play cafes), there are strict no-shoe policies. It makes sense to keep the floors clean when our little bugaboos are crawling around on them. 

So on my first day of my first class, I removed my shoes to reveal my old white gym socks, and I was shamed. Shamed, I tell you. Every other mom had cutie patooties: stripes, argyle, animals, polka dots… you name it. The next day, I went on a sock run at Target. 

Last week, I met a friend at the Kookaburra Play Cafe. In preparation, I slipped on pair of gray and purple polka dotties. Good thing, because the Lincoln Park moms were sporting all kinds of fancy feet. Neon. NEON, I TELL YOU! And who did I spot in the corner of the cafe? A new mom, cradling her teeny infant, her feet clad in ratty white gym socks.

When you know better, you do better. Go invest in some playdate socks. 



How to Hand-Wash Laundry

There is only one thing worse than checking the tag on your new sweater and finding the dreaded “dry clean only” label, and that’s finding this one:


There are about 100 things I’d rather do than wash my laundry by hand, starting with “pay someone to hand-wash my laundry.” It’s not that I’m lazy. If you have a hole in your elephant-print Sleep ‘n Play, I’m more than happy to mend it. If you want me to remove your duvet cover, launder it, then crawl inside it to smooth out your comforter, crawl back out to admire the fresh bedding, leave the house for an hour and return to find a fresh cat barf stain right in the middle of said duvet, forcing me to start the process all over– I’m game. In fact, I practiced just today, just in case.

But I’m stuck on the hand wash thing, mostly because how do you wring the water out without stretching the piece of clothing out? And get it dry enough that it doesn’t weigh a ton and drip pink water on the floor? 

Looks like I wasted a lot of years worrying, because today I looked it up from the place that would know about stuff like this. The answer was so simple. Almost too simple:

After squeezing out water, lay the sweater on a white towel on a flat surface (a white towel prevents dye transfer from towel to sweater). Gently roll the towel and sweater together to remove moisture, squeezing and pressing as you work.

It totally worked. Any even though the water was extra-cold, sending me into a Tierra-like fit… my expensive-so-I-don’t-want-to-ruin-it Banana Republic sweater and my cheap-so-I-don’t-want-it-to-fall-apart Forever 21 peplum top are saved. Thanks, Martha!

Vote for Beef’s Band!


For those of you who read regularly, you know that Beef is my husband.  He’s also the lead singer and guitarist of a cool band called Cassettes on Tape.  They’re in the running to be named Best Emerging Chicago Artists of 2012, so if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, please visit the voting site and click on the “VOTE HERE” (that’s really hard to find on the page– it’s above the list of nominated bands on the right side of the page.)

Thank you!

When I Was 6

Today, I noticed a scar on my leg that I haven’t looked at or thought about in years.  I got it when I was six and had a birthmark removed.  I immediately remembered being on the table in the office– the smell of cauterized skin, the stinging pain, the doctor’s comforting words: “Shut up, kid.”  I was yelling.  I remember thinking he was being awfully mean to a six-year-old, but that it was okay.  After it was all over, I had a Koosa to look forward to.  A Koosa wearing turquoise shorts.

This is what I thought about– when I was six years old.



I hadn’t seen Posey for two hours.  She was taking a nap.  Ten minutes ago, I heard her squealing.  I went in her room and found her grinning, her clothes and sheets soaking wet. She was covered in pee, happy as a clam– and safe in her bed.

I picked her up out of the crib and gave her a big kiss.  I’d never, ever been so happy to see her. Ever.

I’m the luckiest.