I love Jon Stewart, I do, I do, I do. But making headlines today is the seven minute smack down he gave to Chicago last night on The Daily Show. You can watch it here in its entirety.
The back story is simple. Chicago’s beloved SEARS Tower (and yes, some may call it the Willis Tower, but they are not from Chicago and are wrong) was technically dethroned as tallest building in the good old U S of A yesterday by the shiny One World Trade Center in New York City. Not because the building is taller, mind you, but because of the spire that sits up top.
Say it ain’t so, Joe.
Well, dear Mr. Stewart, all in good fun, raised a glass to the loser Chicago in the tallest building in America contest, magnanimously offering a toast of champagne. Never mind that in Chicago we toast to Old Style or Schlitz, or more commonly, au jus in a shot glass.
Photo courtesy of MTM. And Candlelite is one of the best neighborhood joints out there.
But then our illustrious Mayor Rahm Emanuel opened his skinny trap and the gloves came off. In true ‘chip on the old shoulder’ Chicago style, Rahm complained at a press conference that if a spire looks and acts like an antenna, its a GD antenna. You see, to qualify as tallest building, you need a structural element to elevate you, not an antenna. An international board of objective architects deemed the metal thingey on top of One World Trade Center a spire, not an antenna, even though its function is antenna-ish.
Chicago is famous for its chip, or what I like to think of as its “middle child syndrome.” Sandwiched between the warmer and more vapid LA, and the cooler (not referring to climate here, folks) and more cosmopolitan New York City, Chicago is that stocky cousin from the midwest. Nice enough, sure, great to visit, but, yeah, never gonna make it at the cool kids table other than as a plus one.
Now, mind you, that doesn’t reflect my personal feelings about Chicago. I love this place. It is the only home I have ever known. Every day I am lucky enough to roll down Lake Shore Drive, in rain or sun or snow, I can’t help but marvel that I get to live here. Like live here in Chicago, not freaking Schaumburg, but Chicago. (No offense, Schaumburg, but you know what I mean, and if you don’t, well then, by all means, take offense.)
Chicago sign at the Art Institute of Chicago, photo courtesy of MTM
Lots of folks who call New York home think Chicago provincial. That’s cool. We don’t mind that. In a lot of ways, we are. We’re thicker, too. It could be all that deep dish pizza Jon Stewart was so hopped up about last night. HA! The funniest thing is that after a long week with a fever and infection, I ordered in some deep dish for my family last night. Had it for lunch today, too! Woo whee, deep dish pizza is the shizz. True story.
So have your fun, Jon Stewart. Make light of Chicago being the “murder capital” of the world. Yessiree, gang violence is hilarious, right?! Kids being shot on their front porches is totally game for late night yuks. Have at it, Sir. Truth is, I’m good with all of it, cause when I go to sleep at night, it’s in Chicago, greatest damn city in America.
See, I TOLD YOU we Chicago folks have a chip on our shoulders. Shudder, I actually have something in common with Rahm Emanuel. Imma go pour some celery salt in my wounds . . .
This blog post is part of a ChicagoNow network wide “blogapalooza” wherin any ChicagoNow blogger writes about the same topic provided by our community managers. Only catch is that we don’t get the topic until 9 p.m. and have to publish by 10 p.m. It is ON, baby. Today’s topic:
Write about a time you helped someone, or a time that you received help.
“The second kind of help,” is a phrase my husband taught me about. The origin actually comes from a Shel Silverstein poem called, aptly enough, “Helping.” That bald headed freak Silverstein was a genius, save for his completely awful and misogynistic, The Giving Tree (but that right there is a whole other blog post). Here it is:
Agatha Fry, she made a pie
And Christopher John helped bake it
Christopher John, he mowed the lawn
And Agatha Fry helped rake it
Now, Zachary Zugg took out the rug
And Jennifer Joy helped shake it
Then Jennifer Joy, she made a toy
And Zachary Zugg helped break it
And some kind of help is the kind of help
That helping’s all about
And some kind of help is the kind of help
We all can do without
Helping, Shel Silverstein
The point of this post is that we all know some of those Zachary Zugg characters. You know the type. They mean to help, are always ready, willing, and able to help, but somehow, their help is not so helpful. It’s the second kind of help they provide.
Some of those Zachary Zuggs might even be wee little ones that we are charged to raise and parent for life. One of our jobs as parents is to turn our little Zachary Zuggs into Jennifer Joys and Agatha Frys. And while that sounds like I am pushing a transgender agenda, I’m not — not that there’s anything wrong with that — LGBT FTW!
Okay, so the second kind of help with the wee little ones. A perfect example is kids in the kitchen. I know that better moms than me have an amazing capacity to have their little ones help with dinner or baking projects. Ugh. I suck at that. I really do. I try, but rarely succeed.
Mary Tyler Son gets his little apron on and we sidle up the Learning Tower to the kitchen counter. I have already laid out all necessary ingredients like flour, sugar, butter, and eggs. There is nothing that could go wrong with a two, three, or four year old and open containers of flour, sugar, butter, and eggs, right? Right. It never fails that the moment, the second, the instant I turn my back to rinse a bowl or grab a paper towel, BAM! POW! KABLAMMO! All hell breaks loose under the guise of wee little Mary Tyler Son “helping” by pouring flour, sugar, butter, and eggs all over the damn place.
The Learning Tower, or as I call it, “The Throw All Your Junk When You Walk In the Door Tower”
See? The second kind of help.
As a parent, part of the gig is to harness the child’s wish to help, that real honest and goodness need to help, into actual help. It takes time and patience. And more than a few broken eggs all over the kitchen counter. And so, our Learning Tower gets cleared of coats and purses and diaper bags, and Mary Tyler Son gets to help. Or, you know, “help.”
Being a parent is a tough gig. There is much to master and the stakes are high. Like, really high. Like, you want to produce happy, healthy, contributing members of society high. That’s pretty high. And part of that means learning how to tolerate the second kind of help without a scowl or a sigh or an eye roll.
Like I said, this parenting is a tough gig. Just remember, though, that it’s our little Zachary Zuggs and Jennifer Joys and Agatha Frys that will be helping us someday. And we definitely don’t want the second kind of help then. Best put the time in now and teach our kids how to provide the first kind of help. The good kind.
I’m gonna go clear the junk off our Learning Tower right now.
I curse Anne Geddes. I do. You know who Anne Geddes is, right? WHAT?! Well, if you don’t know her name, you certainly know her work. Take a gander:
Photo from annegeddes.comPhoto from annegeddes.com
A lot of folks love this stuff. Me, not so much. Hell, she’s sold 18 million books and 13 million calendars, so clearly, I must be in the minority on this one. I know I’m not supposed to snark about babies, and she’s just a mom doing her mom thing, but dammit, this gal has singlehandedly shaped the landscape of newborn photography. So even if I label this photo genre as a wee bit excessive, I give mad props to her ability to shape and promote an entire industry.
The Mary Tyler Family entered into that industry ourselves for the very first time a few weeks ago. Despite never having done formal portraits for Donna or Mary Tyler Son as newborns, when we adopted our newest little one, well, things are a little different this time around. It seemed like a very nice gift for Mary Tyler Baby’s Birth Mom. How could we not?
Cue the baby photographer!
We went with the same photographer who shot our adoption family video. I know, I know, a what? YES, we shot a family video on the advice of our adoption agency. Social media has changed things, folks, and adoption is not exempt from that. Long story short, the amazing woman who gave birth to Mary Tyler Baby found us through a Mary Tyler Mom reader who knew we were looking to adopt. After she saw our family video, well, she liked us and reached out. The rest of the story is still being written, but suffice it to say we are some lucky sons of guns over here.
The day of the shoot, the photographer called and asked us to turn the heat up. Way up. Way, way up. Like 88 degrees up (insert fan here). The reason being that naked babies are more comfortable in warmth. Honestly, naked anybody is more comfortable in warmth, right? So up the heat went, cause we are nothing if not obedient photo subjects.
When the photographer arrived, she came prepared with props. Not mad props, yo, photo props. This shoot was serious. There was a super cool bean bag, hats, blankets, etc. I had no idea. She looked around our home and decided the best light was in our playroom. We all tromped downstairs and I was grateful, as it’s always a few degrees cooler there.
Mary Tyler Baby was wrapped in a blanket and before I knew it, we were both in front of the camera. What the what? Honest to God, this was supposed to be a newborn thing. I had no earthly intention of being in front of the camera, as evidenced by my messy pulled back hair, total lack of make-up, and yoga pants. But our photographer liked what she saw when I was feeding Mary Tyler Baby and before you knew it I was glamour shooting it up with abandon.
Photo by Bum Bul Bee Photo + Films. Hey! Did you all ever know that I am a huge fan of Caillou? Well, here is photo evidence of said adoration of one tiny, whiny, bald little kid. Also, remember to dress better than his when you take your own newborn photo shoot. And pop the damn contacts in, too, why don’t you?
Sigh. I really didn’t expect that. So tip number one, if you are getting newborn shots done, you best look photo ready yourself. At a bare minimum, brush your teeth.
Soon enough, after bottle and in the tropical climate of our playroom, Mary Tyler Baby was ready to rumble, newborn style. Things went swimmingly for a while. There was a favored blanket knit by a friend, there was a diaper, there was a sleeping baby. All was good.
Then shit got serious, literally and figuratively.
With the diaper off and a sweet little gnome knit hat on, Mary Tyler Baby was still pretty cooperative. Until the Anne Geddes poses started. Did you know that most newborn photo shoots occur right after baby is ten days old? There is a reason for that and it’s because it’s before the baby acne sets in at week two and babies are still pretty comatose in their first few days, pliable, if you will. You know, like play doh.
At twenty-three days old, Mary Tyler Baby was ancient for a newborn photo shoot. Like Kate Moss on a runway ancient. Twenty-three day old babies don’t want to be molded in the hands of a photographer or mom. Nosiree! Twenty-three day old babies want to be left the hell alone, unless you are feeding them, holding them, or changing them. This nonsense with knit hats and props? Oh, hell no.
So tip number two is to get that photographer in there early, or you best believe you will be charged extra for the airbrushing of unsightly blemishes and baby wrangler fees.
At this point I was half nervous about my undiapered baby on the photographer’s pure white blanket and half cracking up over the directions she was shouting at Mary Tyler Baby, “MOVE YOUR LEG TO COVER YOUR DINGLE!” I mean come on. COME ON! How can you not laugh at that?!
My nervousness won out, though, as I worried aloud about my baby’s fluids on this pristine white blanket. I was repeatedly reassured that Mary Tyler Baby could do nothing that had not already been done. Oh wait! Except shoot spit up out his nostrils, projectile style! Does your baby do that? My baby totally does that. It’s pretty cool, honestly, and gave the photographer a new story for her baby photographer arsenal. I could almost hear her say to her fellow baby photographers, “And then the kid shot milk out his damn nostrils!”
The clock was ticking. I needed to go pick up Mary Tyler Son at school and I had a naked baby that needed dressing and car seat harnessing, pronto. The photographer promised just one more shot. Mary Tyler Baby was deeply sleeping after some of the requisite close-ups of hands and feet that required no play doh manipulation of his little limbs, and she was getting some great shots.
And then it happened. The poop smelled round the world.
Would you believe my precious Mary Tyler Baby did exactly as I was worried he would do? That boy pooped, or more accurately gushed, a bright orange liquid poop all over that perfectly white Ralph Lauren blanket. Wow. It was disgusting and hilarious and so very orange all at the same time.
Poor baby. Poor photographer.
I sprang into action, grabbing Mary Tyler Baby in one hand, wrapping a blanket around his bits as I lifted him up, and with my free hand, I grabbed my iPhone and took a photo. Cause it was freaking hilarious and it demanded documentation and I could not stop laughing and the very game photographer plugged her nose with one hand and smeared orange poop with a burp cloth on her perfectly soiled fancy blanket with the other hand.
Poop happens, folks, especially when you have an undiapered newborn on a white blanket.
Within minutes my little one was dressed and harnessed and I had sprayed the shit, literally, out of that blanket. Moms are excellent multi-taskers. And when I got home from the school pick-up, I popped that pooped blanket right in the wash and an hour later it was as good as new, ready to be pooped on again by another little newborn of another little family full of hope and laughs and giggles and joy.
So tip number three is to have a lot of Shout it Out on hand, and apologies, and a camera within reach.
I never got those Anne Geddes style shots of my two oldest, and much as I have skoffed at them in the past, and despite knowing all the work that goes into those newborn photo shoots, I’ve gots to say that seeing Mary Tyler Baby, precious as precious can be, nestled all snug with a gnome cap on his head, manipulated as the image might be, Lordy, am I glad to have it. Cause ain’t no gnome as cute as my wee little gnome.
Bum Bul Bee Photo + Films, the woman owned business behind our newborn photo shoot, is right now having a holiday special through November 15. And, nope, I didn’t trade this mention for a free photo shoot. We paid full freight, cause they are that good.
Mary Tyler Mom 