Lying To The Neighbors At La Bodega.

I've lived in this neighborhood for a little over four years now.

It's a heavily Hispanic neighborhood and granted, I took Spanish from 8th grade until senior year (with a bit of wandertacular time/lost course hours spent in the theatre corridors), but in the face of people who Actually Speak The Language Fulltime...well, I get what I refer to as Shy Spanish.

Meaning I can easily (and quietly) say hola, wish some a buenos noches, and give directions to el discotheque...but other than that? I smile like a moron and lead more than a few of my neighbors to think that I'm either thoroughly kept or thoroughly stupid.

BUT NOT THE OTHER DAY!

No, the other day I went to our neighborhood Cermak Produce (where both the labels and the clientele are of the Spanish persuasion) and struck up a conversation with a guy.

Who spoke only Spanish.

That's right, P.J.- better watch out. Six months pregnant or not, I still got it.

Okay, he was roughly 85 years old.

And wanted to ask where Susannah got her hair color.

So we chatted for a bit. And you know what? I held my own. I was extremely proud of myself for my decently intelligent conversation and only a few moments where we both realized that is not a real word in the Spanish or any other language.

My favorite part? When he asked gestured towards my blonde child and asked what inspired me to marry a gringo. Because- and I'm not sure what nationality and/or mental capacity level I called my own within that culture- but he totally thought I was vaguely Spanish.

Yes, he was geriatric. But I was flattered.

So I went with it, shrugged in a what're you gonna do manner, and murmured something slightly apologetic.

In Spanish.

***

And now it's time to play everyone's favorite game called In Favor Of What Was Keely Neglecting Her Children This Week:

Crazy week, right Mom?

Last Friday, I made dinner. And Country Crock helped. But not as much as me.

On Monday, I told a story about how I got peed on and my children weren't even in the same state as me.

Tuesday brought a rather personal review of all things Cottonelle. Plus a really cute picture of Zuzu.

My first piece for Chicago Parent went live yesterday, with some pretty helpful tips on how often to check in on your children.

Wednesday also showed me busting out my best Bob Vila and attempting to do something vaguely structural with my girls' closet.

And now it's Thursday. (Right?)

Happy almost weekend. Celebrate however you feel is most appropriately festive.

Meetcha at el discotheque.

Organizing My Kids' Closet Out Of Necessity (And Not OCD).

As many of you know, I am currently 82 months pregnant with my third child. Thusly, the Big Girls (as they are suddenly/weirdly being referred to) are going to share a room. 

This means they need to share a closet. 

And being as this is still the fixer-uppiest home on the northwest side of Chicago, I have yet to fix up Nora's closet. We've been way too busy with things like exploding sewers and rats in the kitchen. (Come visit!)

I mean, we definitely [immediately] re-painted her closet and room from its garish hot pink, black, and obscene graffiti combo to its current Sunshine Yellow and white...but that's about it. 

Here's what it looked like a few days ago:

Sure is a poor use of space!

Hot Messville.

And since- as it turns out- babies are expensive, our budget was limited for this closet project. Thankfully, The Container Store was having an Elfa sale. (I swear I'm not getting paid by The Container Store or Elfa or People Who Hate Bad Design.) And the kind folks at The Container Store promised me that this whole shebang could be done in a cinch.

WE'LL SEE ABOUT THAT, I said to myself. And to P.J. And to the girls.

So I stripped everything out of the closet and got to work. (Because P.J.'s agreement to "take care of it" sounded way too vague and in the future.)

Not a bad space, size-wise. But good Lord, is it scufftacular.

Turns out, there was a bizarre trim around the center of the closet (mid-board? Non-ornate wainscoting?) that needed to be pried off.

By hand.

Yes, I'm aware that I make the weirdest faces in the whole world.

And honestly? That was the hardest part. Clearing out my own junk. Because the framing went up in under ten minutes.

Why yes, I should have painted. But I'm pregnant. And lazy.

Pro tip: "Leveling" means nothing if the "house" and "floor" aren't "level."

And once the framing went in, the shelves snapped into place like Whoa. And I organized two little girls' impressive collection of tunics, jumpers, and tutus into one smallish and extremely organized space.

Why yes, they are better dressed than I am.

And obviously they're gonna keep this space immaculate.

Because I've just put everything within arm's reach.

Dammit.

Cottonelle Clean Routine, AKA She's Talking About THAT?

This is a sponsored post written by me on behalf of Cottonelle.

Friends, it seems like this is my week to talk about bodily functions. (Ha- you say- week?)

Yes, but this time it's legit and sponsored and not just me crying about being peed on in the wee (womp, womp) hours of the morning. At least it's not only that.

Cottonelle has unrolled (good Lord, I'm on fire) their new Cottonelle Care Routine, which pairs up their toilet paper with Cottonelle Flushable Cleansing Cloths. They've even brought in London-based immersive journalist Cherry Healy to get the word out about giving your bathroom routine a makeover. And we ain't talkin' marble vanities and autumnal eye shadows.

Boldly Go...and all that.

Now, I've always thought that Cottonelle was the Cadillac of toilet paper. (Not that I equate cars with wiping. 'Cause I don't. I actually don't think about cars all that much, bathroom care-notwithstanding.) It's super soft and rather pleasant, insomuch as that sorta thing goes. And as for the Cleansing Cloths? So great. Some of you folks- you know who you are- feel a bit of weirdness talking about personal care routines. NOT SO MUCH ME! My entire existence (or at least a goodly fraction of it) has been overtaken by the bathroom; potty training, sure, but it's also become that place with the functional lock where I can just hang out for a bit and everything will be a-ok as soon as Daddy (or some other reasonably responsible adult) comes home.

And as for the uninitiated to the glory of the personal cleansing cloth- ohmigawd, you guys. It's not weird at all. It's fabulous. You don't hear babies complaining about being gently wiped, do you? (I mean, you do, but not because it's odd. They're probably just gassy.) Using Cottonelle's Flushable Cleansing Cloths in addition to Cottonelle toilet paper is like getting a bonus shower, you end up feeling so clean. And who'd willingly turn down an extra shower? (Unless you're a hippie. Then, I guess you've made your choices, haven't you?) But for the rest of you- and I'm totally looking at you, parents- sometimes using a Cleansing Cloth is the closest you're gonna get to have some spa/alone time, youknowhatI'msayin'?

These great cloths now come in a sleek, newly designed, upright container- just perfect for placing out in the open, leaving your bathroom guests to think to themselves "Wow, she really cares about me." (Say it with a clean bum, that's my new motto.)

Doesn't that just yell "I care about you and your bathroom habits?"
Not the janky grout. No, that distinctly says "Stay away, friends."
But the cleansing cloths, those are nice.

Wanna join in the Cottonelle Clean Routine conversation? (Quite obviously, you do.) Check out the buzz on Facebook and add your own two cents. And go pick up your own Cottonelle products to see for yourself how fantabulous you'll feel!

You can report back to me and everything.

Or not.

We can just wink at each other and know that we both know.

It won't be weird at all.

Cottonelle wants to get you talking about your bum and on a better way to clean “down there” by using the Cottonelle Clean Routine. By combining the use of Cottonelle Toilet Paper and Cottonelle Flushable Cleansing Cloths, the Cottonelle Clean Routine is a revolutionary way to keep your bum cleaner.

Are you ready? Don’t be shy! Visit http://www.facebook.com/cottonelle to learn more about the Cottonelle Clean Routine and join the clean routine conversation.

This is a sponsored post written by me on behalf of Cottonelle.

You Can Take The Mom Outta The Diaper Zone, But...

On Saturday, I got to drive up to Green Lake, Wisconsin, and take part in a beyond-terrific bachelorette party. (Okay, technically the party started the night before- in Madison, at the bars n' such- but out of respect to The Roo, I kept my pregnant self home until the lake house part of the festivities.

And it was festive. Seriously. The gals were a great bunch, and we did all sorts of lake house-y things such as sit on a dock for hours, have a wine tasting, eat n' eat n' eat (until it became downright laughable how much I had consumed), play games around a table until the wee hours, and even did crafts for the upcoming wedding. (As P.J. responded to me when I said we were doing bridal crafts: "...Ah." Why, don't guys usually do this kinda stuff at bachelor parties?)

I was even given a ridiculously awesome king-sized bed in my own room with an attached bathroom. (At this point in the pregnancy, those gestures alone reduced me to tears.) I WAS SO EXCITED for a solo night of opulent, decadent, glorious sleep.

YAY FOR BACHELORETTE PARTIES! (And cheese curds.)

Sometimes you just need to chill with your girls, amiright?

In fact, it would rank up there as one of the best overnight/get outta Dodge/gal times I've had in a looong time...except for the minor fact that, as I was climbing into said king-sized bed in said solitary room (with private bathroom)...

...I realized that I was not alone and that someone was in fact in my bed...

...and that someone was very drunk...

...and mistook the edge of the mattress for a toilet (same with the floor...and part of the hallway)...

...and so my hedonistic plans of sprawling in a bed and not gettin' up for no one were halted for about an hour...

...while I placed said drunk gal back in her bed, cleaned said pee-peed bed, cleaned said pee-peed floor (with help, oh, I had lots of help from just about every other non-drunk, non-pee-peed gal at the party) and cleaned my pajama pants because ohmyGodallthepee.

But it was fine. Because I [eventually] got to sleep. (Alone.) And it's like that old adage: If You Must Erroneously Pee On Someone In The Middle Of The Night, It Might As Well Be A Mom. (No one has ever actually said that.)

So yes, you're reading correctly. My oh-so rare chance to get a lot of sleep (alone) and not clean up a peed-upon mattress (and person) in the middle of the night was upended when I didn't get a lot of sleep (alone or otherwise) because I was cleaning up a peed-upon mattress (and person) in the middle of the night.

Sigh.

But I'll still chalk it up to a really great time away where I got to hang out with awesome ladies, talk about non-toddler things, replace all of the city air in my lungs with fresh air caught straight off the dock, and listen to British books on CD during the drive (because I am approximately 97 years old).

And when I came home to my girls and P.J.? I appreciated them so much. Because it's good to have a lengthy drive and [most of] and evening without tending to someone and time to actually miss them the people with whom I live.

Best of all? P.J. had put new sheets on the bed.

Country Crock & A Rockstar Casserole.

One of my Mom’s best friends is a wonderful woman named Ardell, and I count her as a second mother. I don’t bandy this term around lightly; two of my requirements for bestowing Second Motherdom upon someone is whether or not they've even driven me to the E.R., and whether or not they've created one of my all-time favorite dishes.

You know how some people are just ridiculously marvelous cooks? Ardell beats ‘em all. And one of those aforementioned all-time fave meals is something we've oh-so creatively dubbed “Ardell’s Chicken.” This dish is amazing. It’s the kind of casserole where a magical cook can take a handful of seemingly ordinary ingredients and create something that makes everyone’s heart (and belly) happy. 

Country Crock, that fabulous spread featuring a whopping 70% less fat than butter per serving (also zero partially hydrogenated oils, trans fat, or cholesterol, if you dig that sorta thing), is gathering up the best quick fix casseroles for this rather hectic time of year. And I'm thrilled to include the world-famous Ardell's Chicken to the list. (Check out Country Crock's Pinterest board for yummy inspiration!)

This casserole is perfect for cozy Fall nights- or when you'd like a Fall night to be cozy, despite having to drive around like a madwoman taking care of everyone's everything. And with ingredients you've probably already got on hand, it's a cinch to prepare.

While I will never be a renowned dinner photographer, it's important to note that this picture is hazy
because of all the fragrant steam coming from the casserole dish. And now I'm hungry again.

While no one in the whole world can make Ardell's Chicken quite like Ardell (really, we've all tried), I've added my best approximation below. And seriously, the beauty of this recipe is that so many ingredients can be added or swapped based on what you have. (I do it all the time and forget to write down the changes, much to the irritation of my sisters.) This casserole is so comforting and so delicious that it's absolutely impossible to go wrong.

I've served this dish to friends and family and at least one husband (okay, he was mine). It gets rave reviews every single time. Feel free to check out Country Crock's Facebook page for even more awesome dinnerific casserole ideas- some might even be as wonderful as Ardell's Chicken.

Who has the fanciest dinners of them all? It's a trick question.

But that's some pretty stiff competition.

I was selected for this opportunity as a member of Clever Girls Collective and the content and opinions expressed here are all my own.

In Case You Missed It...

Friends, I've decided to do a wrap-up post for this week? Why? Let's break it down:

-I've been lucky enough to have bunches o' things posted around the internets...
-I've been purty awful about the self-promotion of such...
-I've been super, super warm this week...
-Which doesn't excuse laziness...
-But yeah, I'm gonna play that card today.

(I'm also pretty terrible at lists.)

SO. I call this In Case You Missed It/In Case I Never Told You About It (catchy and passive!):

On Friday, my article about awesome Fall-tacular stuff to do in the Chicagoland area posted at The Little Style File...(and yes, I'm considering Friday as part of "this week."Add it to the list of complaints, people.)

That same day, my review of Orthaheel wundy boots went live. Good Lord, I love new boots.

Monday, Nora went back to school and I showed a video of the best Extra gum commercial/tear-jerker silent film of the year...and everyone I know bawled.

Is she running towards me in glee?
Or is she ecstatic to be outta school?
Either way, she's happy.

The next day, I extolled the virtues of Savers Thrift Stores, and promptly made myself wanna go back there immediately.

Yesterday, I featured the sadder side of Back To School (and no, it has nothing to do with gum this time. Or overly hormonal mothers. Ahem).

And Wednesday also brought this happy-making piece over at The SITS Girls. Spread the love, yo.

Which brings us to today. And since you're already here, I shan't link to it.

But stay tuned, pals! I'm about to make the humongo jump over to a fabulous Wordpress site with all sorts of sparkly features. Also in my future? A snack.

(Possibly two.)

Back To School Isn't All Fun And Games.

Apparently, one kid at the table suggested the word "sad" and the hordes of impressionable classmates
all chimed in with ME, TOO! I asked Nora if she was really sad- she said, "Not really. I painted a great project!"

And yes, she was this sad. "Whaddaya mean we're just gonna LEAVE her here?"
"Whaddaya mean I don't get to PAINT A PROJECT?!"

Savers Thrift Stores And Unabashed Joy.

Yay for deals! This is a sponsored post by Savers Thrift Stores. I am le happy about this.

***

There are few things in life more swoon-worthy than making A Find.

Fellow thrifters know what I mean: that heart-stopping moment when you discover The Perfect Item, realize it’s in your size/color scheme, and that it’s priced crazily cheap. Marathoners can keep their adrenaline rushes and 5k “fun runs”- I’ll take the tingle of winning deals any ol’ day. (Also? We need to stop referring to 5ks as “fun.” You know what’s really fun? Not running a 5k. Digress.)

Last weekend, I experienced a whole lotta winning and some downright amazing finds at the newest Savers Thrift Store in Franklin Park, IL. Guess what, Chicagoans? It’s totally close by (25 mins from my house in non-highway traffic!) and what awaits you there is worth every. Single. Block.

Here’s what I love about thrifting: the thrill of the chase, the discovery of the unknown, and the sheer potential for finding STUFF.

Here’s what I don’t love about most resale shops: sometimes that STUFF can be thrown about rather willy-nilly…and they tend to be more than a little filthy.

And here’s what I simply adore about Savers: It’s clean, it’s brightly lit, organized within an inch of its life (seriously, I saw at least five employees constantly shelving and re-hanging items exactly where they were labeled to live), and it’s a resale emporium that reads like a department store.

Wanna see my finds? (I know.) A smattering of the spoils which [briefly, safely] stopped my heart:

Nora's Halloween costume: purple dragon, $9.99. BOOM.

Itty bitty adorable clothes: Most were $3.99, max.

Mama's new shoes: And yes, those are Franco Sarto leather slingbacks...
which usually retail for $80...going for $5.99. YES, THOSE ARE.

Name brand baseball mitts! Sure, they're pink n' purple, but it's a start! 

An adorbs hanging frame- which I've been dying to find to hold
ultrasounds of my three teensy babies...all for a whopping 99 cents.

We also picked up a bunch o' clothes for P.J. (average of $5 apiece), a crazyadorablesecret Halloween costume for Susannah ($6), a supra-cute maternity sweater ($4), a buncha frames (.99 apiece), and the happiness that comes from scoring ALL of The Finds at ridiculously fabulous prices. (And my cashier informed me that stuff simply flies off the shelves there- and thousands of new items are stocked daily. Which made me want to return immediately.)

You’re seriously gonna want to go play at a Savers near you. (Check here for locations!) And tell them I said hi.

And pull aside anything in my size/color/décor scheme.

I’m totally not kidding.

***

While this is a sponsored post by Savers Thrift Stores- and you know I would do just about anything for a thrift store bargain- you can rest assured that all thoughts, opinions, and AWESOME SHOES are my own. 

Back To School. Now With More Feelings!

I know a lot of you have been playing the Back To School game now for weeks...

But now it's my turn. With this kid.

...And her Back To School helper.

It's her second year of preschool (which is what happens when you start with a Young 3s program)...but I'm just as emotional as if she were going off to college. For very short, very young people. Okay, I'm not devastated sad. Of course not. Just twinge-y. Saddish. Hormonal.

And it's not like I think preschool is a hop, skip, and jump away from other-side-of-the-world independence (though some would argue that it is). No, I'm a bundle of Feelings for two reasons:

1. I miss her. Plain n' simple. I've gotten so used to this free-spirited little lady just wandering from room to room, reading her books, asking the occasional question, and always being game for a project or adventure. And while three mornings a week isn't the equivalent of a Peace Corp tour, it leaves a big (okay, smallish) Nora-sized hole in my day.

2. Each time she starts a new class or chapter in her life, it becomes glaringly obvious to me that one day- perhaps even soon- she'll be onward and upward and forward and not slowing down, not even the tiniest bit, and she'll never again just be my little kid at home. And it seems like she's already started that trajectory.

And I miss her.

Yesterday, P.J. showed me this commercial. Warning: If you're an easy crier, you'll cry. Easily.

So no matter how special I make each day and no matter how often (or infrequently) I document each little Pinterest-worthy milestone, she's well on her way to the rest of her life.

That's what I think about on each first day of school. And while I always want Nora (and Susannah and Roo) to be wildly happy and live with absolute freedom (from worry, from Mom-guilt)...

I already miss her.

Keely Steps Out (In Supremely Cute Orthaheel Boots).

I'm very very very thrilled to write this sponsored post on behalf of Orthaheel and Sole Provisions. Yay, boots!

Now that I'm safely ensconced in my 30s, it's easy to see that I've begun a trend of wearing shoes that are extremely good for my feet.

This is a welcomed change, as I spent the majority of my 20s clad in footwear designed to destroy arches (and fall apart at the first sign of weather).

And as a gal who for so long prized quantity over quality and so cute over pretty much all else, it's awesome to find boots and shoes that can be a) functional, b) supportive, and c) yeah, ridiculously cute. (I mean, I'm not dead yet. I still have some standards of looking borderline attractive. No, they really are there.)

I am neither Waldo nor a pirate.
Just in case it ever comes up.

I'm massively in love with my new boots from Orthaheel (the Nell, in black) for these very reasons, as well as the fact that they look vaguely motorcycle-y which, sure, I'll never be in any danger of riding an actual motorcycle, but I think we can all agree that it's an attractive look for Fall. (The boots. Not me on a bike. Because never.) The ruching by the ankle is a cute touch, and I love side zip boots. Love 'em. (So does P.J., who will be in charge of all things Footwear Removal within the next few months.) And the footbed is roomy and supported and ohmyword feels like a nice, footly hug.

Here's what else I dig about these boots and this company: the technology that went into creating this line of shoes and boots is clinically proven to reduce pronation (read: not walking like a normal person, KEELY), and can help your overall foot feel like a million bucks.

You can check out this wonderful line of footwear at Sole Provisions- where I got mine- which not only features some rather adorable shoes and boots, but also offers brands upon brands designed to make your bones and joints and extremities feel adorable, too.

As someone who's currently plowing through her third pregnancy, I'll take all the adorable-makin'/adorable-feelin' help I can get.

And cute boots, too.

Although I was compensated for this post by Sole Provisions and Orthaheel, all thoughts and opinions (and gushy love for footwear) are my own.

Tea Parties And Time.

"Mom," she said. "You know what's even better than doing your work?" Nora looked at me expectantly- and a tad impishly.

"...Having a little tea party with the breakable tea set."

She nodded like she had just unveiled THE plan. And, in a way, she had.

You bring the tea set, I'll bring the braids.

For weeks now she's been asking to use "the breakable tea set," the one she was gifted for her third birthday- and the one that, quite honestly, isn't all that breakable. Sure, it's ceramic and way nicer than the plastic cups n' saucers (the ones that, shortly after receipt of the new ones, were foisted off on Suzy as a benevolent Now I Shall Share With You gesture), but it's not like they're the Queen's china.

I guess I just never felt that the time was "right" to play with them: the Zunami was in a crazy flingin' mood, there were too many toys already scattered around the room, and I had a ton of stuff to catch up. (I started to feel badly for Nora as soon as I realized that those three factors would always, always be in play.) But Nora would keep asking- almost every day- "Maybe later when Zu's asleep? Maybe then we'll have a tea party with the breakable tea set?"

"Sure," I'd tell her. And then remove Susannah's leg from an item of furniture.

But this afternoon- long after her little sister fought the good naptime fight (and lost)- and long after Nora's Quiet Time books had been devoured...and long after she decided that a Big Girl Nap was not in the cards for her today...she approached me with that grin.

And I promptly shoved my laptop aside, turned my phone to silent, and prepared to be indulged at the most lavish tea party this side of the Chicago River.

Maybe it was the fact that we had just that morning come from her preschool orientation and I already found myself missing her, or maybe it was that excited smile, the one that made me feel like a jerk for not just letting her use the damn tea set any ol' frickin' time she wanted because IT'S A TEA SET...

But it was the best tea party I'd ever attended.

And when I asked her what was in it ("honey and strawberries, but the kind that Uncle Neil can eat") and how it was prepared ("with water from the bathroom sink"), she seemed grownup and proud and I wanted to stay right there forever.

She was so careful with her pours. And such a hostess with demure inquiries of "Sugar? Creamer" and offers to stir my cup. And the ultimate lady with her pinky up (even though it was the pinky not holding the cup- there's time). And an excellent hydrator with a whopping six refilled pots of "tea."

I went upstairs to put a small cookie on her miniature plate- and her expression would've made you think we were suddenly dining at The Drake.

It made me feel like an excellent Mom. And it made me feel like a terrible Mom.

But it also made me feel like a wise Mom, for I've come to realize something incredibly important: while there will always be crazy-pivotal things to check off our lists, time is so stupidly fleeting and I won't look back fondly on that deadline I got out the door regarding children's bedding options. Someday Nora's gonna be as busy as I always purport to be. So while she's here and young and thinks I hung the moon and stars and sky...I should always say yes to a tea party with my kid.

But I should plan to add my own sugar. She stirs in way too much.

Seeing Sporting Events In Tiny Little Spurts.

On Labor Day, we took the girls to a Cubs game (Susannah's first, Nora's second) and had a terrific time. Even though- due to the ol' law of If You Need To Be Somewhere, Your Kids Will Nap For Seven Hours- we only managed to see a few innings. 

Still terrific. 

Because there was a train ride with Ohmygoodness I CAN SEE OUT THIS WINDOW views of [a different part of] the city.

And, after the girls figured out that guys were hitting balls into the general direction of the seats (it was foul ball-tacular that day), they decided to cup their hands together in case a baseball gently floated down from the sky.

I realize that we'll have to work with them on all things athletic.

There were also stadium hot dogs. With neon green relish and mustard and ketchup and lots of napkins. I thought the smallish Cubbies fans were purty cute, too.

Best hour of The Sports I've ever had.

Labor Day Is For Napping.

Happy Labor Day, friends!

Hope you get to spend it doing exactly what you wanna do.

(But maybe in your own bed, yeah?)

August Date: Photo Scavenger Hunt (And Marshmallows).

Oh my word, BONUS BLOG, y'all. This post is brought to you by the letter P for Procrastination (last day of August, friends!), and by the number 11...meaning I've now resided in Chicago for that many years. So this month's date was superbly special, as it highlighted things I reallyreallyreally love about this city. Let's begin:

On Monday night of this past week, we had a mini date. (We didn't think the full date would happen this month and decided to hedge our bets by, you know, hanging out and documenting it.) After putting the girls to bed, Peej retreated to the backyard for a REALLY long time. I finally wandered out and saw a sweet setup of our fire pit, some chairs, and the fixings for s'mores. But no pit-full of fire. 'Cause one of us was having trouble getting the sucker to stay lit. After another one of us started an amazing fire (hint: IT WAS TOTALLY ME), we had a fabulous campfire date in the comfort of our own noisy and urban 'hood. 

However, P.J. had something else in store for that Wednesday night: after we got in the car, he handed me a photo scavenger hunt list. On it were all sorts of Chicago landmarks- you know, the kind we always send tourists and visiting pals to see, but rarely go play with on our own? 

And he said we were being timed. And had to win. (I'm still not entirely sure if he was joking or if I won. I hope I at least placed.)

The first stop was at the famous totem pole on Recreation Drive. It was very dark. We kinda felt like 

lurkers. And we may have startled the cyclist who ultimately offered to take our picture. (Nothing unusual about this scenario, folks! Just a married couple hanging out on a pitch black park trail! Move along!)

       

How do you beat that kinda photo opp? How about taking a pic at the oh-so recognizable Buckingham Fountain? A couple of notes: a) We never purported to be awesome at taking nighttime photos, and b) my look of alarm came when someone busted out the national anthem on a boombox. (I was unsure as to how I should've proceeded. Salute? Sing? Ignore? I went with the Hairy Eyeball. Very patriotic.)

Next up was saying hi to Artie, the lion(s) at the Art Institute's front steps. He's an old pal. But seriously. Don't touch him. Just...don't. 

Kinda feel like we failed at taking the proper tourist photograph at The Bean- I mean, it's nothing else if not a gargantuan selfie opp. But it's much nicer to do during the day. Or at dusk. Or, again, with better picture-takers. Also? Hella fingerprints up in that joint. (Peej definitely added his own, but for seriously.)

We headed to one of my all-time favorite spots to get a wicked expensive drink: The Signature Lounge on the 96th floor of the Hancock Tower. And being a Wednesday night and all, there was no line for the elevator and no line for actual window seating. That may have had something to do, however, with the fact that Chicago was experiencing a fog straight outta a Dickens novel. See those white panels next to our heads? That was the reflection of the sheets of fog. The only view we saw that night was a very brave spider outside the window (as well as a couple heavily making out- one of whom may or may not have been a Russian prostitute- and some loud frat boys cheering each other on regarding something sporting). 

My raspberry fizz was delightful, however, and P.J.'s Manhattan was (reportedly) tasty. The flourless chocolate cake also passed inspection (of my face). 

Our last item on the scavenger hunt list was the old Water Tower. (Not the mall which houses American Girl Place, mind you. Just across the street. The place that used to hold the water and now holds a theatre.) And all I can say is- the electric bills must be astronomical up in that joint. Bright as a thousand suns.

Kinda like my love for this guy who keeps dating me all about town. 

Tiny Shoebox Dollhouses. 'Cause Obviously.

The other day, the girls were playing with these miniature shoeboxes that their back-to-school TOMS came in (deeply discounted TOMS, I might add- because I love 'em, but 50 bucks for kiddo shoes? Yipes), and my budding environmentalist asked if we could turn them into something. 

We chose dollhouses, because good LORD there aren't enough places in which the girls' cadre of dolls can live/work/reside. 

However, I cannot resist dollhouses. And these shoeboxes are seriously teensy tinesy and adorable and just begging to be transformed into smallish residences. 

So here's what we did:

We chopped the lids from the eco-friendly and mucca sturdy shoeboxes. If this were a regular
shoebox, you could just,you know, remove the lid. Just sayin'.

Next, we traced the "walls" and "floors" with fabulous construction and wrapping paper. For wallpaper and area rugs,
obviously. If you want it to look really good, have your toddler help you trace with a bulky crayon. It'll really
streamline how the ol' walls meet the floors. But do not let her help you cut them out. Especially if she's Zuzu.

Do, however, have her help you prep the walls and floors of the houses with a glue stick.
None better.

This is what it'll look like once you get the house wallpapered and glue the original lid on as a roof.
(Again, if you used a regular shoebox, you could just flip the lid on a diagonal, chop it in half, and have
an automatic roof with eaves already built in.) The TOMS lid- with its special tabby tabs- made it
extra special. But regardless, I know. This dollhouse is stupidly attractive.
I am a professional.

For extra schmanciness, we created gingerbread eaves outta popsicle sticks and foam paper.
And the only reason this photo is watermarked is because it would look odd to have this
be the only picture without one. But seriously, steal away. I care not. Mazel tov.

Voila: an awesomely small dollhouse, just right for two of your Russian nesting dolls.
(Russian nesting dolls sadly not included.)

And there you go. High quality dollhouses (I dig Nora's circular "portraits" on the walls of hers, right next to a square still life of a bowl of pears) which will last for generations.

Or until the shoebox bulldozers come trampling in the name of eminent domain.