The one thing you should never do while pregnant

It all started innocently enough.


Every so often, Publix releases limited-edition Pilgrim salt and pepper shakers. They are literally my favorite holiday decoration I own.

My friend from college, Bethany (who also runs, which is both hilarious and delicious, and who happens to also be from Florida) posted a picture on Instagram of her Publix Pilgrim salt and pepper shakers and tagged me in it, because if you know me at all, you would know this is a completely rational thing to do. Now, if you don’t know what the Publix Pilgrims are, hang with me. I will attempt to explain in a little bit, and also what led to my downfall this past Sunday.

A little while after she had posted her Instagram picture Bethany texted me with an emergency. Well, it would be considered an emergency if you grew up in Florida* in the 90s. And by emergency, I mean an “actual, factual, real-life, earth-shattering revelation” about someone she works with.

Now, let me fill in the story for those folks not lucky** enough to have been in Florida in the 1990s. Publix is a grocery store that started in Florida and has since grown into states in the Southeast United States. The thing is, though, Publix sort of has this whole other level of existence for Floridians where if I try to tell people from out of state that it’s a grocery store the immediate and overlapping next words from Floridians are, “but it’s so much…more.” They each have a sub shop that serves the divinest of sub sandwiches. The stores are clean. The prices are fair. The employees universally go out of their way to help shoppers and customers and wear large buttons on their uniforms that tell customers never to tip them, for shopping at Publix is a pleasure. No, literally. That’s the slogan: Where Shopping Is a Pleasure. And it is. Shopping at Publix is, quite literally, a pleasure. Florida puts Publix up on highway exit signs for the restaurants. Floridians love Publix. When I was in college in North Carolina (this was years before Publix had broken ground in North Carolina) I wrote to Publix to ask if they would please open a store in Winston-Salem. And you know what they did? They wrote me back. They thanked me profusely for being such a wonderful customer. They told me that customers like me where what made them proud to do what they do. It’s so much…more.

“Okay, so Publix is cool, I guess, but what did you mean by Publix Pilgrims, you crazy lady?” I’m sure you’re asking by now. I’m getting there, I swear.

So we know that while shopping at Publix might be a pleasure, just as pleasureful*** are the commercials Publix puts out, specifically around holidays. The Whos in Whoville didn’t need to sing to grow the Grinch’s heart, all they had to do was play him any one of the Publix commercials put out over the years. However, the single most quintessential Publix commercial that every Florida kid associates with Thanksgiving – and subsequently their childhood – is what we all call the Publix Pilgrims Commercial (capital ‘P’, capital ‘P’, capital ‘C’).

Here, I’ll give you a minute to soak it in.

Go ahead, play it again. It’s adorable. And I’m being quite serious here, these Publix Pilgrims are as much a part of Thanksgiving to me as turkey and pumpkin pie.

This is why when Bethany texted me that her coworker had in his possession the original Publix Pilgrims, I actually screamed. Yes, that’s right. The ones in the commercial.

I will give all Floridians in the room this time to compose themselves. Are we good? Okay.

After hyperventilating a bit, I got a little bit more scoop. Years and years ago, Bethany’s coworker produced the commercial (Bethany works in advertising, because she’s cool and I don’t understand how people that are cool actually still are friends with me), and I guess he got to keep the shakers. But the worst part? He doesn’t even know where they are now. My first question only a Floridian would ask was, “Why aren’t they in the Smithsonian?!” because in my head they are almost as culturally important as Dorothy’s red slippers. My other Florida friends corroborated this question as well, not even understanding that something this culturally and historically valuable to our favorite holiday could actually be privately held. I suppose he didn’t grow up with the commercial, but the fact that they aren’t in an historically-preserved shadowbox display above his (perhaps hypothetical) fireplace literally astounds me.

You see what I mean about the emergency text? Floridians get it. So let’s move on to what happened Sunday.

After getting back from the park where I screamed the scream that shall forever be known as “the scream of knowing someone who knows someone who possesses the original Publix Pilgrim salt and pepper shakers” (read as: high-pitched, incredibly loud, alarming, and misunderstood by those who did not grow up with this cultural reference of the Publix Pilgrims) I decided I must indoctrinate Connor into the world of associating the Publix Pilgrims with Thanksgiving. I turned on our TV (which is “smart”, meaning, YouTube-enabled), and played the commercial. Twice.

And then, not fully realizing the magnitude of what would happen after this, I accidentally allowed YouTube to autoplay the next video(s), which were all the Publix holiday commercials of all time.

Now, these are tearjerkers in the best of times, but with pregnancy hormones a-ragin’, I didn’t stand a shot.

First came this one, titled, “Head of the Table.”

*sniffle.* Is it dusty in here? It seems a little dusty in here.

And then this one played.

This is when the tears really started to get going.

But then…this one came next.

Oh man. I gave up all hope of wiping any tears away at that point. I was a full-fledged mess.

But finally, the coup d’état, the one that made me go from “crying” to “full-on ugly-cry bawling” wasn’t even a Thanksgiving/Christmas commercial. It was this one.

“You’re really going to love Mom.”


Even now, I can’t watch this commercial without ugly-crying. I think it might literally be impossible as a pregnant person to see this video and not sob.

You might think upon composing yourself, “But isn’t this all just marketing? Doesn’t it seem a little bit like Publix is toying with your emotions?” But, the thing about Publix is, it doesn’t feel like that. If you grew up with Publix, you get it. The people at Publix overwhelmingly make you feel this warm inside on any given Tuesday. These commercials are an extension of them.

It took me a good 20 minutes to compose myself after this marathon of (potentially pregnancy-related) emotional catharsis. Chris was crying too, only his tears were from laughing at me so hard he was reduced to tears. I’ll take it, I guess.

So that’s my story. If you are an emotionally-compromised pregnant person and do not want to be irrationally reduced down to a pile of sobbing tears in a matter of 5-7 minutes, do not watch Publix holiday commercials.

I would say I regret it, but I don’t. Thank you, Publix, for making everything better, and making every memory I have of being in your stores a pleasure.

*And maybe Georgia? Did you guys have Publix up there back then?

**Yes, I said “lucky to be in Florida.” Wanna rumble? Because I can rumble!

***Fun fact: I literally just learned that “pleasureful” is a real word

(And, to show you guys just how much I love you, this is a selfie I took no fewer than 10 minutes after Chris smartly turned the TV off to save me from myself. The struggle. is. so. real.)



The cookbook that gets to sit next to my Jacques Pépin cookbook

Disclaimer: I was selected as a 100 Days of Real Food Cookbook Ambassador. I received an advance copy of the cookbook in exchange for my honest review, no other funds were given. All opinions are my own and/or my toddler’s. 

100 days of real food cookbookOn the list of “things yuppie adults and/or parents really like talking about when interacting with other yuppie adults and/or parents” are, in order:

  • Decluttering
  • “That podcast I just listened to about that, I’ll send you the link to it!”
  • “Real” (or “Whole”) food

For me, listening to other people talk about the last one is about as interesting as listening to someone’s flight delay/airline woes/cancellation story. I know in my heart the person telling the story believes in their heart that this flight delay/cancellation is really different than your flight delay story and it’s worth telling. It’s not. Here’s why: everybody has a story and (more importantly), nobody cares about someone else’s. Everybody thinks their flight delay story is more interesting/worse/deserves more, “Wow! The airlines really did that?! What happened next?” than will ever be received telling an airline delay story has ever been told. But as with every single flight delay story in the history of flight delay stories: nobody listening will ever care. It’s about as interesting to people as recapping a plot to a sitcom or what their dream last night was about. It’s important to you, as the teller of the story who lived through the agony of dealing with the airlines, but to everyone else it sounds about like the teacher from Charlie Brown. The same goes for talking about diets or your “whole foods” challenge.

All of which is to say: when my husband and I embarked on the “10-day Real Food Challenge” we didn’t tell people until it came up. I didn’t blog about it. I just wanted to do it, because everyone has their version of “real food” (paleo! Whole30! gluten-free! low-fat! no-low-fat-only-whole-fat! wheat belly! blah blah blah!) and nobody cares what your “brand” is.

However, my husband and I’s eating had gotten, shall we say, a little off the rails, so I looked for something to get a little more back on track but that I could still do with a toddler in the house. After I watched the documentary Fed Up (available to stream on Netflix) about sugar and how food manufacturers amped up sugar in food to replace fat in “low-fat” food and how that’s actually the cause of the obesity epidemic in America (and yes, even no-calorie sugar counts as sugar), I knew I wanted something that made sense to me. 100 Days of Real Food was the answer. The rules are simple. You can eat anything (including beer/wine! which right now doesn’t help me, but, you know, yay!) except:

  • White flour/rice. (All flour must be whole wheat flour, and rice must be whole grain brown rice…psst, whole wheat pasta is actually awesome!)
  • No refined sweeteners (sugar, Splenda, Stevia, etc. are all out, but honey and syrup are okay)
  • Anything out of a can/box with more than 5 ingredients on it (this was a big one for me, because it made me re-realize just how much junk is actually in the food we eat and buy)
  • Deep-fried foods/”fast” foods

I looked at the list and thought it couldn’t possibly be that hard. That’s how we always eat anyway, right? But then I started counting ingredients. And realizing maybe I wasn’t cooking as much as I thought I was. And, wait, maybe I wasn’t actually eating real food most of the time. So my husband and I (and Wee Connor, by default) did the challenge for 10 days and felt like it was a good lesson in not only cooking more but also just how much better we felt eating fewer chemicals.

Cool, right? End of story? And that’s how I got stranded in the Seattle airport for 3 days because it snowed 2″ once*? Well…

You guys, do you see this?! It really does look like the picture in the book!

You guys, do you see this?! It really does look like the picture in the book!

…the catch was this: a lot of the recipes on the 100 Days of Real Food site and old cookbook were, how shall I put this nicely, um, shackling me to the kitchen? Overwhelmingly difficult for something that seemed so simple? Yeah, that’s nice. I’ll stick with that. And not all are like that, but I felt a little overwhelmed by the end. Which was why when the new 100 Days of Real Food: Fast and Fabulous cookbook (by Lisa Leake, author of 100 Days of Real Food blog) I was pumped. This cookbook was the answer to all my prayers: real food, but actually things that don’t tie me to the kitchen forever. Lunch ideas. Salad ideas that don’t make me want to throw things. Slow cooker recipes. Really, it’s a cookbook filled with simple, make-the-food-taste-good, real-food recipes.

So far I’ve made a few recipes and they’ve turned out amazingly well. So well, in fact, they actually looked like the pictures in the book. Like for real, looked like the pictures in the book.

My husband has already requested 5-6 of the lunch ideas recipes for himself to take to work, and so far I haven’t had a bust of a recipe yet. Which means that this little cookbook is going on the top shelf next to Jacques Pépin’s masterpieces**.

Right now 100 Days of Real Food: Fast and Fabulous is on sale for preorder for $16 on Amazon. It’s fully released on October 25th, at which point I think the price goes up to full price. I really cannot recommend this cookbook enough if you’re looking for something to help get you back into eating foods that actually resemble foods, but also don’t want to become someone who talks about their “real food” adventure while stuck at the airport. It’s such a win-win.

(Oh, also, no I don’t get paid for you buying the cookbook. Should have mentioned that, too.)

*Great airport, by the way. Top notch. Real story.

**Sometimes when I’m feeling blue I pull down a Jacques Pépin cookbook and read it from cover to cover. This is me and you should probably know that.

Early pregnancy: first kid vs. second kid (oh, also, I’m pregnant again.)


“Point to Mama’s belly, Connor! Point at the belly! Point! Ugh, okay, FINE. Let’s just get the shot.”

When Chris and I started down the path of Having Children (capital ‘H’, capital ‘C’) we agreed we both wanted “more than one.” How many more was generally left up to “let’s just see where we are after two and go from there.” The question of sibling spacing in our family was pretty firm, especially after I did a long, fully-researched, self-serving article for a publication on that exact subject. We knew we wanted our kids to be no closer than 2.5 years together. We would rather have them be further apart than what we considered “desirable” than too close. We knew we wouldn’t start “trying” (“trying” meaning “taking the goalie down”) until the kiddos would be at least 2.5 years apart.

So I guess this all is really my roundabout way of saying YOU GUYS I’M PREGNANT AGAIN AND I AM ENTIRELY BAFFLED BY THIS FACT. 

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Dearest Trains (A love letter from my toddler to trains)

A letter from my toddler to trains:

Dearest Choo Choos,

You guys. Literally. This happens EVERY TIME we ride the train. I hope you don’t mind me using my pet name for you in such a formal letter, but I feel it is only right.

I can no longer remember a time when our love did not spring eternal. For me, there has only ever been trains, and there only ever will be trains. I think about trains as I sleep. When I awake, my first thought is not of food, nor water, nor dogs, nor cats, nor walks, but rather you, my one, my only, my Choo Choo.

There is a tall woman in our house with me all the time who calls herself Mama. She sometimes also plays with the trains and the tracks on which we can build empires, but I know her love is only surface level. I can see in her eyes she does not seem to possess the passion, the fervor, the pure adoration I have for you, my trains.

The Tall Woman often takes me for walks and strolls. Many times I see you passing overhead like the shining beacons of fascinating wonder you are. Sure, Tall Woman may sit and wave “Hi Trains!!” but it is only after I hear them first. I must wonder if she even cares if I’m not there. Tell me: if a train rumbles by in the city without a toddler, does anyone wave?

There are also days where we go far across the city and those days are the best days. We must stroll along the tracks of wonderment to a loading station that, as the Tall Woman describes every time as, “not our closest station but one that has an elevator because seriously Chicago, it’s not like it’s 20freaking16 or anything.” We ride in the elevator that somehow smells like my dirty diaper bin mixed with “industrial solvent” (Tall Woman’s words) and then, finally, we are there and our time has come. Our time has finally come!

I can see the lights of the train approaching. I start waving to you, my only, my love, and then, you come! You glitter and gleam in the sunlight! You have arrived! Sometimes in my excitement the man or woman in the front of the train waves or even makes the train make a strange squeaking sound the Tall Woman tells me is the train “honking.” I know not of this honking, but only of the fact that we can be united at last.

I close this letter to you hoping only to be united sooner rather than later. Do know, my dearest trains, that even when I look at other toys or take other modes of transportation I think only of you, my one, my only, my Choo Choooooooooooo.

With only the deepest of loves,

Wee Connor

Thomas and FriendsA special extra bonus note from the Tall Lady! You guys, it’s a giveaway!)

As you might have guessed, Wee Connor has officially hit the “toddler train obsession” stage. It’s adorable. I love it. And, for the record, despite what Connor’s letter says I really do enjoy this more than most any other toy he has in his possession.

So, in honor of this phase in our lives, I (for reasons I cannot fathom) have actually been authorized to do a special Thomas and Friends giveaway of their brand spanking new Blu-ray! Released just this week, I can officially give out 5 copies of the latest Thomas and Friends Blu-ray.

All you have to do to enter is write me something in the comments! Tell me what your child’s latest obsession/craze is! Is it trains? Cars? Dolls? Planes? Space? I love all of these things and want to hear about what’s going on with your family!

After the giveaway I’ll pick 5 comments at random and you’ll be contacted by me for more information on getting the Blu-ray. Good luck!!

Slinkies and school supplies and back-to-school fun, oh my!

Supposedly fall is approaching. I know this for a few reasons including, but not limited to:

  • The beginning of the onslaught of pumpkin spice-flavored
  • The temperatures in Chicago slowly but surely starting to edge toward “habitable,” if not “downright lovely” (mid-to-high 70s, yes please!)
  • People continuing to tell me it’s the middle of August despite all my sensibilities telling me we’re just starting into June, and people ending up being correct
  • The start of my Facebook feed being overwhelmed with pictures adorable, well-kept, freshly-clothed children standing in front of their homes with backpacks on

That’s right. It’s back-to-school season. And, for what it’s worth (which is admittedly not a lot), I adore these back-to-school pictures. Never stop, Facebook parents. Never stop. These back-to-school pictures are enough to make me channel Meg Ryan’s character in the beginning of “You’ve Got Mail” and start waxing poetic about bouquets of pencils in the fall (autumn? Does she say autumn? Probably.).

Wee Connor is still too young to go to school*, let alone back to school, but it turns out that doesn’t mean I can’t join in on the fun.

image001Enter the Gill Park Back-to-School Bash on Thursday, August 18th. While this is probably an atypical blog post for me in promoting an upcoming event, I wanted to put the word out because I think community events are important and, more importantly, fun. Also, slinkies. There are going to be so many slinkies.

Community events like this are not only fun but remind us why we love living in the city. This event is not “just for” anyone, it’s for everyone who wants to come out, play (with a 4-foot tall slinky because ohmygoshthat’sathingtheydid), and interact with other people from the neighborhood who are prepping the space on their cameras and phones as needed for these back-to-school pictures they’re about to take. The first 100 guests will receive a free backpack and slinky, and there is even face painting, mascots, and snacks as well. You guys, this is going to be fun, even if I don’t have a kiddo going to school this year.

Wee Connor and I will definitely be there, and I hope if you’re at all interested or just want to find out more about Chicago neighborhood events you’ll come join us. If you see us and we don’t know you, please say hi!

So quickly, let me tweet the deets:

The What

Gill Park’s Back to School Bash

The When

Thursday, August 18th
4 – 7pm

The Where

Gill Park
825 W. Sheridan Rd.
Chicago, IL

The Cost

FREE! Now you seriously don’t have an excuse, right?

The Why

Because it’s back to school season and that’s a million times better than anything flavored with pumpkin spice. More importantly, because it’s going to be a ton of fun and community events in Chicago are awesome. They’re why we live in the city!

Hopefully I’ll see you there!



*You can bet your sweet bippy when that fateful day comes I will be snapping those pictures of my fresh-faced, backpacked child and bemoaning the passage of time with the best of them. Also, I’ll be crying. Not the cute one-tear-down-the-cheek while I reminisce about the little Winston Churchill lookalike I took home with me from the hospital what seems like 10 minutes ago, either. I’m talking real-life, Mom-is-so-uncool-and-not-in-a-cute-way, nose-running ugly crying. Admitting it is the first step, I think.

I made a pancake cake in a rice cooker and now there’s no going back

The Pancake Cake

The greatest thing to happen to brunch since the mimosa.

(Pssst, here’s a jump to the actual recipe at the bottom)

You guys.

You guys.

You guys.

I need to tell you about this thing I just did. What did I do? I revolutionized the pancake breakfast/brunch/brinner.

Okay, well, I didn’t revolutionize it, but I followed directions from the internet and did the thing and now feel all empowered. So, yeah, vive la revolution! (Or whatever the appropriate phrase for “did the thing on the internet and succeeded” is.)

What is this magical pancake brunch revolution I’m talking about? Glad you asked, homeskillet. Repeat after me.

Pancake. Cake.

Now stay with me, because here’s where it gets crazy.

Pancake cake. Made in a rice cooker.

“Pancake cake?” You ask. “Isn’t that just like…a cake?”

But it’s not! It’s so not!

“In a rice cooker? Huh?”

I know, right?

Allow me to explain how this all came to be. After literal years of being a rice cooker snob (e.g., “Why buy a rice cooker when I have a perfectly good stove and pot?”) I broke down and bought a rice cooker after reading a few articles about the ease of cooking rice in the rice cooker, other cool things you can cook in a rice cooker, and the fact you can set a timer and have perfectly-cooked rice without babysitting a stove. We’ve recently switched to brown rice, which meant even longer cooking/stove babysitting times, and if we wanted rice with dinner it meant almost 0 chances of post-nap park playing. And that, my friends, was really the straw (or, dare I say it, grain of rice?) that broke the camel’s back.

I used some Amazon credits we had left over and bought the mack-daddy of rice cookers: a 5.5-cup Zojirushi. As I understand it, Zojirushi is to rice cookers what Kitchen Aid is to stand mixers. It has a bunch of different settings for whatever you’re cooking: white rice, brown rice, porridge, cake, and also has a steamer function, which if we ever have another kiddo might come in handy when I need to make bigger batches of baby food than our Beaba can do. You can set a timer for the food to be done at a certain time, and it also has sensors that adjust the temperature and cooking time based on the consistency of the food (a feature, I now understand is called “fuzzy logic”). I went all in on this rice cooker.

Once I got the rice cooker I made some brown rice immediately to try it. It took a long time but was completely hands off and came out perfectly. I was still sort of wary, though. Another appliance/space-taker-upper? In my kitchen? And then, breakthrough.

Pancake Cake SlicedI read about the famous (“famous” meaning “famous among people who read and write about rice cookers on the internet”) pancake cake phenomenon and decided I had to try it. It’s so simple it’s mystifying. You simply mix up your favorite pancake batter, pour it in the rice cooker (or, something I’ll do next time, mix it in the actual rice cooker itself), and turn it on for 45 minutes. When the rice cooker is done, you’re left with what is essentially a very large, thick pancake you can cut into slices. This appealed to me for a few reasons: first, #pancakecake. Second, no slaving over the stove fretting about the temperature and silently resenting everyone else enjoying their pancakes while you’re still attempting to use up all the batter. Third, #pancakecake. It had to be said again.

The pancake cake was a smashing success. I used the New York Times Everyday Pancakes recipe for pancakes because I basically think Bisquick is the devil* and pancakes have literally 5 ingredients. I then decided to use chocolate chips because I’m also apparently 5 years old and there is a limit to how sanctimonious I can be regarding processed food (Bisquick? No. Chocolate chips? Obviously yes). I set the Zojirushi to the “cake” setting, which is the equivalent to “on for 45 minutes” on other rice cookers (I am not sure of how other rice cookers function, so don’t quote me on that), and then came back to my beautiful pancake cake.

Connor couldn’t stop eating it. Chris couldn’t stop eating it. I am probably still eating it as the other two normal people in the house are in a brunchy pancake cake-induced coma. Seriously guys, it’s the best thing to happen to brunch since the mimosa.

Pancake Cake Connor EnjoyingIf you have a rice cooker, try this, guys.

You’ll feel like a mad scientist.

You’ll feel revolutionary.

You’ll feel like your brunch life has meaning again.

Pancake cake.

You’re welcome.

(And now, the actual recipe.)

(Also, you should probably consider getting a rice cooker. I’m officially a convert.)

Rice Cooker Pancake Cake Recipe/How-To

(Adapted from the New York Times Everyday Pancakes recipe)


  • 2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 2 teaspoons baking powder
  • ¼ teaspoon salt
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 ½ to 2 cups milk 
  • ~½-1 cup pancake fillings such as chocolate chips, fruit, etc., as desired


  • Mix dry ingredients (flour, baking powder, salt) together in the rice cooker
  • Beat eggs into 1 ½ cups of milk, then add to the dry ingredients
  • Mix all ingredients, and if the batter seems too dry, add more milk as necessary
  • Add mix-ins as desired
  • Close rice cooker and cook for 45 minutes (set to “Cake” setting on Zojirushi)

Recipe Notes

You can use ANY pancake recipe you love and it will work in the rice cooker. Just be sure not to fill it too high as the pancake cake will expand as it cooks. The recipe above fit perfectly in a 5.5-cup Zojirushi rice cooker.


Bisquick ingredients list

*Flour, baking powder, eggs, milk, and a pinch of salt are what go into pancakes. Take a look at the ingredient list for Bisquick. DATEM? Distilled monoglycerides? Blargh. I’ll take the extra step of mixing 5 ingredients I can pronounce any day over willfully ingesting an additive of diacetyl tartaric acid ester of mono- and diglycerides (that’s what DATEM is, by the way) as an “ingredient”. [Steps off soapbox, probably falls into own glass house.]

Dear elevator button panel manufacturers…

There comes a point when you arrive at a certain age and you actually start thinking this exact phrase:

I’m going to write a strongly-worded letter about this.

This is the exact face I make when I say I'm going to write a strongly-worded letter. I might expect one from Connor over this lunch any day now, apparently.

This is the exact face I make when I say I’m going to write a strongly-worded letter. I might expect one from Connor over this lunch any day now, apparently.

Whether you say it out loud or simply think it, the phrase is there forever in your psyche without warning. It doesn’t matter if you mean email instead of letter. It doesn’t matter if you haven’t bought stamps in four years. The phrase is the same. It’s the 10-word equivalent of, “harumph!” and it happens to everyone at some point.

It’s happened to me for years, but there are certain strongly-worded letters I’d like to write as a mom that seem to trump over all other annoyances I’ve experienced lately. And so, having explained all this, I’d like to start a segment just for this on this blog. I’m creatively calling it, “Strongly-Worded Letters*.”

The first is one I know every mom with a mobile child has experienced because I can’t get into an elevator with another mom without discussing it: elevator button panels.

To whomever designed the layout of elevator buttons:

Thank you so much for putting the “call” and “emergency” buttons exactly at toddler level. There are special thank-yous in order to the ones who make those buttons red and extra-enticing. If handicapped individuals need to be able to reach the top buttons, can you not put those buttons at that level instead?

Do you realize how many elevator operator-people (no, I don’t know exactly who it is that answers those phones) I’ve talked to, apologizing? Or, rather, run out of the elevator from exactly as they pick up, embarrassed, knowing that what I’m doing is wrong? Or, even worse, realizing that half the time nobody is there because too many toddlers have pressed those buttons and now if there’s a real emergency we’re all SOL? Too many times is how many times. And yes, I watch my child and try and teach him correct behaviors, but sometimes I (god forbid!) have something in my hands, or am trying to find my keys, or any number of other things that may happen at any given moment when we are in the elevator. So thank you, elevator-button-designer-person.

Thank you indeed.


Motherhood What

P.S. Quick question: do the “close door” buttons actually do anything? Or are they simply a method of reminding us of our own futility in this world and that our place in the universe is quite small and fleeting? Because it sort of seems like the latter option. 

*It’s this exact creative spirit that has me rolling in the beaucoup bucks** these days as a writer.

**You should probably know that I’m being sarcastic here. We still are too cheap to buy cable.