Thursday, June 29, 2006

I'm Glad There Is Somebody Else Out There Who Hates These Things

I have a secret confession to make and in doing so, I’m afraid of the repercussions. But since many people have the compulsive urge to share their dirty laundry on the Internet, I will give in for a moment and do the same.

I read Dooce.

There, I said it. Whew, got that one off my shoulders.

I can relate to her even though I’m not clinical because a) She’s a Mom, B) She’s not afraid to write about the sometimes horrible feelings of motherhood, and C) She’s an ex-Mormon who has a totally irreverent sense of humor about the Church.

Today I feel compelled to refer to her because it is summertime in Chicago and a strange, hideous obsession has taken over my fair city - Crocs. Ewe.

Each year a new ugly shoe fad rears its frumpy head. More recently it was Ugg boots. Doesn’t the name explain it all? Ugg is supposed to be a warning – she who wears this will be met by the expression of Ugg! Because they are ugly. See, it’s even in the name.

Then it was Keen sandals (I made the gross error in buying a pair because they look so cute on all the kids at school). Not only did they inflame my plantar fasciitis beyond control, they are ugly and they make my already size 11 feet appear larger than a clown’s. Now, what exactly do I need to protect my big toe from? I ask.

Now the trend is a plastic looking garden clog. What was at first slightly amusing on little girls, has taken over and offends the eye at every corner. I try to pretend that these are all just tourists invading my urban pleasure ground, but the numbers are too great.

That is why I share with you my dirty little secret today, because I am delighted that Heather has the same sentiments and has taken this to guerilla warfare. (I know, I’m a little behind on my reading, this is old news for anyone else who reads Dooce.)

Monday, June 26, 2006


After seeing the Field Museum’s Pompeii exhibit, Chloe’s become very concerned about volcanoes. Whenever we travel, she is quick to ensure that there are no volcanoes where we are going.

This last weekend we took a road trip to Minnesota. We're on the road crossing into Wisconsin and Chloe asks, "Mom, are there volcanoes in Wisconsin?"

“No. No mountains, no volcanoes.”

"But Mom, there's a mountain. There, there." she points to a small hill. There are a lot of small hills - beautiful, lush, green, gently rolling hills.

“Chloe, those are just small hills. They just seem big because there are no mountains behind them to show how small they really are.” I look back to see the furrow in her brow deepen, so I try again.

“Once a long, long time ago, this entire area was covered in a great sheet of ice. All these hills are leftover debris from when the glaciers moved over the land and receded North.”

Her furrow only deepened further.

“Chloe, these hills were made by the ice-age.”

“Ohhhh.” The light went on and a look of sheer delight crossed her face. “Ice age.” She mused while nodding her head.

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Chloe’s thumbing through the little, brown notebooks on my desk. “How come you have two of these and I only have one?” She asks.

“Uhhh, because I write a lot.”

“I think you should become a writist.”

Wednesday, June 07, 2006


She ran up, threw her body against my raised feet and squealed with laughter as she rose to the sky. Hair flying, grass in my ears, the sun in my eyes, my soul was filled with her joy. "Again, again, again!" she shouted the words on my tongue.


There are so many good reasons to hate Milennium Park, but I love this fountain.