On The Road Again.

Seeya next week, kids.

Love, 

The Planner, The Snacker, The Reader & The Singer 

Green Giant's Veggie Snack Chips Are My Go To. If My Fam Leaves Me Some.

I love snacks. I love snacks. I think Snacks should be their own mealtime: Breakfast, Snacks, Brunch, Snacks, Lunch, Snacks, Dinner, Snacks...(and then a tapas-style Snacks before bed.)

People who stop snacking after 8pm: I do not understand you.

Folks who don't experience 2pm/4pm/11pm hunger pangs: I do not understand you.

But I am understood (and heard loud n' clear) by Green Giant, especially with their new superstellar line of Veggie Snack Chips. They know that I want something delicious and different and yeah- even something made with real vegetables from time to time.

This past weekend I was lucky enough to try the new Roasted Veggie Tortilla Chip (Garden Ranch) and the Multigrain Sweet Potato Chip (Barbecue)- and the friends with whom I grilled out were all-too happy to weigh in on their favorite. We started with the Garden Ranch chips (like our snacking was a wine flight or something), and they went over well, especially with my little girls. I could easily see these becoming a Mom's Purse staple (what, you don't do that, too?), and I think they'd be pretty spectacular with hummus. However, the loud n' clear winner was the next course, the Barbecue-flavored sweet potato chips. As in, my pals liked them so much that I was barely able to try one. (Vultures, all.) But from full mouths, a few chip crumbs, and a practically decimated bag, I pieced together that they would've liked to have had some more. (For testing purposes, obviously.)

Nora was, unsurprisingly enough, quite willing to be a Snack Tester for both varieties...but I didn't trust her with the whole bag. (I know her kind. I am her kind.) Her glowing, verbose review?

"Yums."

I call this one Little Kid, Gigantic Bowl, No Chips For Mom.

These refreshing snackaroos from Green Giant are light, flavorful, and make a wicked nice addition to a weekend bbq.

If they last that long.

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

No Good, Very Bad Day. (Until Snacktime.)

Yesterday was a tough day.

It even started out tough. Despite my best (read: productive/attention/motherly) efforts, the girls were just feeling crazy. Like- wild, bickery, rambunctious, independent crazy.

All throughout the morning, Nora responded to my requests of helping me straighten this part of her room/putting stuff back on that shelf/stop pulling even more things out of drawers by neeeeeding to play with that/taking things from the shelf/removing things from drawers. And Zu? Well, my darling youngest punctuated her independent proclamations with full-out yowly sprawls on precarious perches. ("I do it mysellllllf!")

But it was okay. Because I knew that- after a wonderfully long naptime- the afternoon would bring SO MUCH FUN. After all, it was the free day at the Art Institute, and that meant more impressionists and miniatures than we could shake a downtown parking pass at.

And yeah, sure, Suzy's nap was really short and NORA DID NOT NEED ONE AT ALL, but I just knew that we'd have such a Special Afternoon at one of our favorite places that I didn't worry.

Even when Nora fell asleep in the car ride downtown. And even when street parking turned out to be 12 bucks for fewer than 2 hours. We were going to have fun.

Our good friend Neil met us there, and the gals were thrilled to be at the Art Institute with "Uncle Neil." Even when, confusingly enough, the ticket guy informed us they no longer honored First and Second Wednesday Free Days for Chicago residents. The girls were still just pleased as punch to be having a Special Afternoon downtown (and now with Uncle Neil)!

But Nora did sadly ask why no one was letting us go see the miniature room. (Because, I wanted to tell her, as deep as my love for my children goes, there was no way in heck I was gonna spend 30 bucks for something we usually do for free twice a year.)

We went back outside, and I promised the girls that we'd do something awesome with our Special Afternoon; a walk through the prairie garden? A visit to The Bean? A snack by the promenade? All of these options sounded terrific and Special.

Until the first raindrop fell.

Neil and I, surprised, assured the girls (and each other) that it would pass. Quickly. No worries. Then it started raining hard. Really hard. Sideways hard. And then it was a torrential in your face downpour that no eave, no canopy of branches, no museum walkway could hope to shield you from.

And the girls began to cry. Really hard.

So we ran back to our car- across a few city blocks, through a few lake-sized puddles, and pausing for IMPOSSIBLY LONG TRAFFIC LIGHTS- while I quickly earned my badge as the wettest, most pathetic-looking pregnant gal ever to push a stroller (with attached boogie board) down Michigan Ave. We said goodbye to Uncle Neil (we are SO sorry, Neil), and I drove a car full of dripping, sad-faced children back uptown.

A full hour and a half before our meter was to run out.

To recap: I paid 12 bucks to wake up my cranky child, deny both kids a promised excursion, and drench them in the face, only to turn around half an hour later and drive back home. Special Afternoon!

"That wasn't so fun, Mom."

"I know, Nora."

But then Susannah requested that we play the Winnie the Pooh soundtrack; when it came on, she squealed oh-so happily. And when I looked over my shoulder at a stoplight, I saw this.

So we went home. Bathed, dried off, put on some cozies...And made s'mores.

It just seemed like the right thing to do. And you know what?

It totally was.

Getting Outta Dodge And Packing Your Biggest Soccer Shorts.

So, here's where my mind is this week:

The teensy, tinesy, wonderfully beachtacular part of Cape Cod where I spent magical summers as a kiddo.

Also as a highschooler- one with a penchant for swim team-style bathing suits, despite the fact that even my veryverybest swimming efforts make me look like a howler monkey with a leg cramp.

I also spent these summers wearing bucket hats. And soccer shorts that even a fully grown man would deem too baggy.

Why did those shorts need to be quite so large? And why did I feel the need to be oh-so secured, swimming-wise?

Regardless of style (or a decided lack thereof), I'm thrilled to bitsy bits to be going there next week with my sisters (and bro) and parents and nephews and husband and daughters and family friends.

I may even bring a racerback swimsuit for old time's sake. (Do they make that style in maternity?)

Better pack some Umbros, too.