Tales of the weak and stupid

The setting: the customer service return line at Target.

Where – apparently – I spend half of my life.

A guy walks up to the register carrying a jar of salsa. No bag. Just saunters over with the jar and plops it down on the counter.

GUY: "I'd like to return this salsa."

CASHIER: (eyeing jar suspiciously) "Is something wrong with it?"

GUY: "Yeah, I can't open it."

**cough – wussy! – cough cough**

CASHIER: "Do you have a receipt?"

Ah, the age-old question.

GUY: "No. I've had the jar for six months."

CASHER: (giving him the same look I was giving him behind his back) "So you want to return it?"

Wait. 

This guy has been holding onto this store-brand salsa for six months and he can't open the jar so he's returning it? It probably cost him more in gas to drive to the store for this time-wasting trip than to just throw the damn thing away. I know it cost him more in pride to admit that he can't open a jar of effing salsa.

CASHIER: "Ok, I'll need your license…"

I know the drill all too well. No savvy shopper is going to waste their $70 in annual returns on a jar of salsa!

Amateur.

(Perhaps he can use the return money to purchase one of those rubber grippy thingies that help open really touch jars?)

Target Fail

Dear Target,

I thought we had something together. Every weekend we'd see each other and spend time together – and it was wonderful! – and I always left you feeling satisfied. I would show up early when very few people were around. I'd bring my iced coffee and stroll leisurely, taking pictures and texting family and friends and just TRULY enjoying our time together.

You offered me so much more than anyone else; you were everything under one roof. Especially with the news of Baby M and all of the wonderfulness you had to share – from cute clothes to helping me create a registry gift list.

You were my rock.
I never thought I'd find fault in you.

Until Saturday.

It hurts to utter these words but, Target, you disappointed me.

A few Sundays ago, friends and family gathered together to shower Baby M with gifts. Their generosity was overwhelming. I wasn't sure our living room would recover:

As with any shower, I got a few duplicate items. (I know Sofie is an international teething phenomenon, but how many chewy giraffes can one baby have??)

So on Saturday I packed my trunk with my duplicate gifts, picked up my mother, and headed to Target.

I did not have gift receipts for 99% of what was in my car, but this has to happen all of the time, right? People returning shower gifts? To the store at which they were registered?

At customer service I was instructed to print a "Gift Registry Log" from their kiosks.

Well – shocker – the system was down.

KK: "Can I print off the "purchased items" registry so you can see they were purchased and then I can return them?"

Customer Service: "No. I need the bar codes."

KK: "The bar codes are on the products."

CS: "But I need the bar codes FIRST then I scan the products."
You need a bar code and then you'll scan a bar code?

KK: "Ok. There has to be another way to do this. How else can I return this stuff?"

CS: "You can return it against your license without a receipt, but there's a limit."

KK: "What kind of limit?"

CS: "$70"

KK: "A day?"

CS: "No, a year."

Um, well that's not going to work. I have two rubber giraffes that cost $25 EACH in these bags.

MOM: "What if we call a bunch of people to come down with their licenses to help out?" God love her.

KK: "No. That's not the right way to do this. These were gifts, off of a registry from this store. There has to be another way."

CS: "There's no other way."

KK: "You have to understand where I'm coming from here. Most of this stuff is from my registry. I'm questioning the validity of the registry as a whole, since I registered for TWO sets of giraffe sheets and I got SIX, and friends have told me they had the sheets taken off the registry, but that's another issue entirely. I don't understand how I'm being penalized for returns when YOUR system isn't working. Find another way to make this work."

CS: (staring at me, not helping)

This went on for about 20 minutes. You know how they say when you're in a relationship you're the last one to see how ridiculous you're being? Well, that was me – with Target – on Saturday. I was the lunatic in Customer Service with a cart filled with onesies and butt cream and rubber animals.

KK: "So you won't take any of this back against my registry? Not one thing?"

I wanted to scream, 'Don't you know who I am??? I'm here every week! My family is close to staging an intervention with my habit with you! I thought we had something special! I feel so used!'

But, instead, I turned my cart around, head held high, and headed out to the parking lot.

And guess what, Target? I went to Carter's today for baby clothes.

AND I LIKED IT.

Define "Ready".

Now that we are about 6 weeks away from the arrival of Baby M, we are asked the same question over and over:

"Are you ready?"

Yes.

No.

I don't know.

Is anyone every really ready?

If you mean have I booked airfare/hotel/rental car for our trip to Georgia? 

Then yes.

If you mean do we have the nursery set up and cute little onsies bought and folded? 

Then yes.

If you mean are we mentally prepared for a 14 hour drive home from Georgia with a newborn we just met in a rental car? 

Then…no.

But I don't know if I'll ever really be ready for that, I think we'll just go with it when the time comes.

That's not to say we haven't been doing things to get ready for the arrival of our bundle of joy. 

Just the other night, we took an Infant Care class at the hospital. Or as I like to call it, "How to Keep Your Baby Alive" class.

That night went something like this:

As we were preparing to leave for the class, Rob reminded me that the instructor that had left a message said we could bring food and drink because it was a long class during dinnertime.

KK: "We can grab a bite after. Unless there's something you want to bring?"

MR. KK: "How about we bring beer?" He was kidding. But I LOVED that idea. (we didn't bring any beer. though about halfway through the class when the word 'nipple' had been said 63 times and I heard a very vivid description of 'cracked nipples', I was really wishing I had something to drink.)

Here are our key learnings from baby class: 

ON WHEN TO CALL THE PEDIATRICIAN

Anytime, night or day, whenever you have a question. Even at 3am. On their home phone. Or just put the baby in the car and stop by their house.

Or maybe that's just what I'm planning to do after hearing the 9 million things that could go wrong with our baby in just the first week. I'm hoping a natural instinct will kick in and I'll be able to decipher the difference between: not enough poop/too much poop/weird colored poop/poop that smells/poop that's like tar/poop that's too watery/poop that's too hard/baby poop/my poop.

ON PETS

If you have a cat, it will sneak into the crib and try and suffocate your baby.

If you have a dog, he will mostly likely hate you and poop on the carpet.

ON BATH TIME

Be sure you have an army of 10 at the house before you attempt this feat:

1 person to hold the baby

1 person to get the water

3 people to test the temperature of the water

1 person to entertain the baby during bath time

1 person to take pictures of baby's first bath

1 person to criticize how you're giving a bath

1 person to scream "don't get the umbilical cord wet!"

1 person to pour you a stiff drink for when this stressful event is over

ON FEEDING

This was my favorite topic of the night. And, honestly, the one I had the most questions about. How much do I feel our little peanut? Will he stop eating when he's full? Will he eat until he pops like dogs do? 

INSTRUCTOR: "We are a 'baby friendly' hospital here and we encourage breast feeding. After all, breast is best! And that breast milk is liquid gold."

Liquid gold? So let me get this straight: if you aren't going to breastfeed, does that mean you're 'baby unfriendly'? That you don't like your baby?

INSTRUCTOR: "I should ask, is anyone here planning on bottle feeding?" 

(look of disdain).

I raise my hand. "I am."

14 people suffer whiplash as the turn around to glare at me, as if I just admitted that I was going to feed the baby poison, and then I was going to leave him naked and out in the cold all winter long.

INSTRUCTOR: "Well, if you MUST, here's what you need to know…"

She then led with how expensive it is. Followed up by how expensive it is.

ON THE GIRL SITTING NEXT TO ME

Most.annoying.person.ever.

I'm all for questions, but seriously, this isn't your show, sweetie.

ANNOYING GIRL: "So I've been having debates with people on hand washing. It it a must every time touches the baby? I bought BabyGanics anti-bacterial with NO alcohol. Am I being anal? I think people should wash their hands every time."

(I agree with this, but didn't feel the need to wax on for hours about it)

ANNOYING GIRL: "Some people think I'm OCD. But that's what I want for my baby!"

ANNOYING GIRL'S HUSBAND: "Screw them! Tell them to mind their own business!"

ANNOYING GIRL: "Well, one of them is YOUR MOTHER, so why don't you tell her?"

Well, this class just got a whole lot more interesting!

ON CIRCUMCISION

It's your choice, but it will hurt your baby and make you feel like a horrible parent.

ON SWADDLING

It's the only way to get your baby to sleep and stop crying.

ON DIAPERING

Start a diaper fund.

Now.

Also, you will perfect the art of lifting your baby and sticking your nose to his diapered ass and exclaiming, "There's poop!"

So…are we ready?

Um, sure?

what happens in the ladies' locker room…will scar you for life

You know the old saying "I'm eating for two?" when you're pregnant? And then it's okay to gain weight because you have 'that glow' and an actual human inside of you sucking nutrients out of your body?

Well, I don't know what you call it when you're ravenous while you're one degree removed from being pregnant. Maybe I'm gaining sympathy weight. Or maybe my 40-year-old metabolism is announcing its big arrival. Or perhaps my crazy work schedule and no gym time is creeping up on me.

Whatever the case may be, it was time to get my ass back into shape.

So last week, I went back to the gym.

And that means back to the locker room.

I have seen some stuff in the ladies' locker room at the gym that would make a grown man cringe.

But none of my old favorites were there. Instead, there was a new slew of women with equally as weird habits.

But I was nostalgic for all the crazies I used to see...

Like the old, skinny ladies who walk around naked with their flappy skin and saggy asses. How they will turn to you, and look you in the eye while wearing nothing but their birthday suits and say, "MY! How do you walk in those shoes?"

And how while naked, they like to prop one leg up on the bench to apply cream to every nook and cranny God gave them.

And even when they sit their bare asses on the dirty public locker room bench to put on their socks or to rest.

Or how about the woman who will strip down naked in all her glory, walk sans clothing to the shower, then return in a towel and in a new found fit of modesty, bring her clothing into the little changing room and lock the door, only to emerge fully dressed.

But perhaps the one that is burned into my mind the most is Tits McGee. 

She was a girl – whose age I can only describe as 27 from the neck down and 45 from the chin up - getting ready directly behind me, so I could see her every move in my mirror.

She was applying her make-up wearing a lace thong, had her wet hair wrapped in a towel, and was wearing a black parka.

A parka.

Putting on her make-up.

It was long enough to just cover her tanned cheeks.

And when she started blow-drying her hair, naturally she got hot, so she took the parka off.

And the only thing she was wearing under her parka were nipples.

As soon as she unzipped the jacket her huge jugs sprang free, as if they were saying, "Helllllooo! I'm here! And I'm cold!"

You can't un-see that shit.

Second runner up is Commando, who you can imagine is the woman who leaves her unmentionables at home, and wears JEANS to work, ladies.

Denim. Directly against her lady bits.

Lord help me.

Parental Advice

Parents love to give advice to people who are going to be parents.

And I eat that shit up. 

The secret to getting your baby to sleep through the night? 
Do tell. 

How to avoid getting peed on every time I change a diaper?
Details, please.

Balance baby, house and work without having a mental breakdown?
I'm all ears.

But the biggest piece of 'advice' we've gotten over and over as we've been sharing and talking about our news has been just three simple words. 

It goes down like this: parents give each other a knowing look that only those who have been in the trenches can understand, look at us and smile and simply say:

Just. You. Wait.

(cue the maniacal laughter)

However, this has been the advice that makes the most sense to me.

We will have to wait. We have to wait to see what type of little person this baby turns out to be. 

While some parents have told me horror stories of their babies 'just not sleeping for more than 3 hours at a time, even at 8 months!', (lord help me!), both Mr. KK and I were FANTASTIC sleepers at a very early age, sleeping through the night with no problems.

What about the babies who get their hands into everything, the minute they're mobile? One of my favorite stories from my mother-in-law is that when Mr. KK was a baby, she would sit him down on the floor in the kitchen in front of the refrigerator, and come back 45 minutes later and he was still there…he never moved a muscle.

We may have a sleeper or a night owl. 

A foodie or a picker eater. 

A talker or the silent type.

A crier or a self-soother.

A smiler or a frowner.

A joker or a deep thinker.

But no matter what we have, he's ours, and we'll figure him out along the way, just like everybody else.

And we won't be able to wait until the day, when we can look anxious parents-to-be in the eye and say, "Just you wait!"

And then collapse into fits of evil laughter.

The family that resuscitates together, stays together.

So we have been in full-on preparation mode for the arrival of our little munchkin! 

It's finally starting to feel a little more real.

Nursery prep is well under way, with a second coat of paint going on as soon as I finish writing this post. Yesterday I organized baby clothes into bins by size, getting them ready to be washed. There's a baby shower on the horizon. We've been given a date that our surrogate will be induced. 

Things are moving full speed ahead.

And being the typical reader/researcher/blog stalker that I am, I've been reading everything I can about infants and newborns. One day I came across information about Infant CPR. I figured it couldn't hurt, right? And when I mentioned that Mr. KK and I were going to take this class, the four grandparents-to-be all raised their hands and wanted in. 

And immediately asked where we were going for brunch afterwards.

So one sunny, summer Sunday, the six of drove to Yale and entered what would be our CPR classroom for the next 4 hours. Here we were, 6 of the 8 spots in the class and not one of us was pregnant. We definitely received an arched eyebrow from the instructor, until we filled her in.

I had taken CPR in high school when I was working at our town's summer camps. I remember the big dummy 'Annie' lying on the floor, a group of teenagers huddled around her, taking turns blowing into her mouth, then wiping it clean with an alcohol swab, shaking her and yelling, "Are you all right? Are you all right? HELP! HELP! Call 911!"

Guess what? It's no different. Except 'Annie' is now 'Baby Anne' and she's the size of a Cabbage Patch Doll. And while the CPR videos have been updated, they apparently had their casting call for actors from B-movie rejects. 

We all survived, and brunch afterwards was delish – crab cake benny with a chilled sav blanc.

Cheers to Baby Anne!

kk eats Connecticut

I love food.

And much of what I do resolves around food: shopping for food, watching food on TV, talking about food, cooking food at home. 

And perhaps one of my favorite things to do is to eat food out.

While we love trying new restaurants, there are those places that we go to because we know they have some of our favorite dishes that we can count on to be fabulous every time.

From the Rhode Island Coast to north of Hartford, here are my favorite dishes across the state of Connecticut.

The Clam Chowder

The Oyster Club

Mystic, CT

This is the perfect chowdah. While it's a New England-style chowder, the broth is silky smooth and creamy, not the old stand-your-spoon-up-in-the-soup-thick. It's chock-full of clams and potatoes. But the best part, are salty, hand-cut bacon lardons that are the perfect mix of crispy and melt in your mouth.


The Tasting Menu
Millwrights
Simsbury, CT

While it may seem like cheating, EVERYTHING on Millwrights menu is fabulous. So much so that you have to get the Tasting Menu when you're there. You get 7 delicious courses of the chef's choice from the menu, from appetizers to dessert. And if at all possible, splurge the extra $45 for the cocktail pairings with each course. You will experience everything from sparkling wine, to seasonal beers, to robust wines and even hand-crafted cocktails from their resident mixologist that pair perfectly with the course at hand. Dinner here is an experience, and the rustic atmosphere and gorgeous views aren't too shabby either.


The Reuben
Eli Cannon's
Middletown, CT

This place is a Dive, with a capital "D". And sure, they boast a beer list that's to die for, with 30 rotating taps of craft beer goodness. But it's one particular sandwich – hidden in their menu – that has stolen my heart. So much so, that I've nicknamed it "The Best Reuben in America", and I stand by that claim. The corned beef brisket is made in house and cut into thick slices, covered in melted swiss, tangy sauerkraut and cool Russian dressing, and piled high on toasted rye. Uh-may-zing.



Deviled Eggs
The Whelk
Westport, CT

Deviled eggs have made a comeback. No longer a 1970's throwaway, these creamy little bites have resurfaced and they are fancier than ever. At The Whelk, they take deviled eggs to a whole new level, topping them with pickled red onions and a cornmeal-coated, friend oyster. Yep, there's a fried oyster on every half. This little snack-sized plate is made for sharing, but take it from me, order one just for yourself…you're not going to want to share.

Mussels & Fries
Mikro Craft Beer Bar
Hamden, CT

Mikro is our neighborhood bar, the place we go on Thursday nights where we know they'll save us seats at the bar and have an amazing selection of craft beers on tap. But the food! It's a gastropub in every sense of the word, and one of my favorite dishes is the mussels. You get a bowl of at least two pounds of mussels, in a beer, citrus and thyme broth, served up with crusty bread. You can opt to add the fries, and I suggest you do. Ok, I'm going to say it: these are hands-down my favorite french fries. Ever. Did I mention the garlic aioli they come with??


Warm Local Ricotta
Heirloom
New Haven, CT

You must.try.this. Local ricotta is served in an earthenware dish, drizzled with truffle oil and thyme, then baked until it's bubbly. Served on the side is toasted bread, charred from the grill, crispy on the outside and moist and warm on the inside. Creamy cheese and crunchy bread…is there anything better?


Steak Tartare
Bar Bouchee
Madison, CT

I'm picky about my tartares, but this one is out of this world. They start with filet mignon and chop it to order. It's mixed with capers and dijon and other amazingness, topped with a quail egg. It's served with crispy homemade potato crisps, perfect for scooping up this masterpiece.


Bread and Butter Pickles
Max Burger
West Hartford, CT

Yes, their burgers are delicious, but what I love most here are the housemade bread and butter pickles. I've never met a pickle I didn't like, and I will say, I LOVE these pickles. I order a burger just so I could get these pickles. They are crunchy and tangy, zesty and sweet, all at the same time. Order extras on the side, because you'll eat them all before you even take a bite of your burger.



Ok, now I'm hungry.

Happy eating!