This Means War Irish playwright and novelist Roddy Doyle (The Commitments) is hugely famous in his native land—but if there’s one thing that rivals his popularity among his countrymen, it’s pub trivia. Doyle takes on the game, and 16 working-class characters devoted to it, in the comedy War. The play, in a production by Seanchai … Read more
Sarah ordered a bunch of maternity clothes from gap.com, and when the first shipment came in, I thought the shorts, with their elastic waistband, looked like Sansabelts™. The shirts looked like tablecloths at a church picnic. The timing of the shipment was perfect. Sarah is starting to complain that she feels out of shape. She’s sad that her clothes are starting to get tight. “You’re not out of shape, Sarah,” Dr. Harth said. “You have a baby inside you…
There are all kinds of “tests” you can do predict the gender: dangling a pin over the pregnant woman’s wrist, a wedding ring over her belly, a herring over her pancreas, et cetera. Every one of them is equally ridiculous. The Chinese claim to have a method of predicting the sex of the baby that claims to be 99 percent accurate. All you need is the age of the mother at the time of conception and the month the child was conceived, and the Chinese Lunar Calendar will do the rest. Of course, you don’t know if it’s going to be a rat or a monkey or what, but at least you’ll know the gender…
Let the Games Begin Bust out the comfy sneakers—and maybe a little bravado. City Chase, an urban adventure race that’s hugely popular in Australia, Canada, and Europe, comes to Chicago Saturday the 25th. Teams of two compete in challenges throughout the city, with tasks ranging from an obstacle course to hugging a stranger. “People should … Read more
Historically, men have tended to want their baby to be a boy. So have most women. A boy keeps the family name alive; he is capable of manual labor; he earns the income necessary to take care of his parents in their old age. This kind of thinking is obviously outdated, and has led to abandoned children, sex-selective infanticide, and other joys.
And yet, most men still want their baby to be a boy. Maybe the idea of being tender and nurturing a little girl scares us; maybe we’d feel dirty bathing and changing them. Or maybe we know in our heart of hearts that all men are dogs, and someday a dog is going to give our little girl a bone. Not a father’s favorite image…
It wasn’t your typical Vegas bachelor party. Just a group of nice guys enjoying some time off. No strippers, no cocaine, no skirt-chasing or nightclubs. You know how they say whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? There was nothing to leave there beyond an all-you-can-eat Indian buffet.
As we were walking down the Strip, I started talking to Chris, the father of a two-year-old. He didn’t have that fanatical New Father Aura, nor the familiar dead look in his eyes; he seemed to be a healthy, happy guy with interests beyond his child. He was the first new father I’d met who was capable of talking about subjects other than strollers and sleep patterns and the color/consistency of bowel movements…
Sarah’s nausea has dissipated, and various essential areas of her anatomy are no longer stamped “fragile.” It’s possible, if the stars are aligned, that she could be ready to give sex a go. I’ve tried to improve my chances by telling her that sex will help keep her pelvic muscles toned in preparation for childbirth. Of course, now she is suffering from the worst headaches of her life. Go figure.
What I’ve gleaned from the contingent of Expectant Fathers Goons lucky enough to have sex with their pregnant wives is this: it’s a weird experience…
I grew up with dogs: a white German Shepherd named Gabby, a Norfolk Terrier named Jake, and, later on, another German Shepherd named Woody (the latter two were named for Jake and Elwood of The Blues Brothers). These days, my parents have Harry, the Yellow Lab, and Oliver, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel—but I’m practically the only one among my group of friends who doesn’t have a dog; my hardly-at-home schedule just doesn’t allow it…
This post could just as easily be called “How to Have a Dinner Party.” Earlier this week, Kara Mann, Chicago’s fast rising interior designer, who’s in her 30s, invited two dozen or so interiors people, architects, and design types into her new showroom on Hubbard Street. The party had a look—that look—that we all try to achieve when we throw parties: classy, but with the idea that things could easily get slightly off-kilter. I guess it just looked fun. I took notes.
Some couples will hatch elaborate plans for springing their pregnancy on the world. Last November, I got talked into having Thanksgiving dinner with Ursina’s family in Maryland. Considering it was my wife’s brother’s wife’s father’s sister’s home 700 miles away, and I knew almost none of the 30 people at the table, I found myself wondering why I’d been invited. (It turns out, they’re just nice people.) Then, just before dinner began, Ben and Ursina made a heartfelt toast, and concluded by requesting that their two sets of parents—who were sitting at the head and foot of the table—look under their seats. When they did, each of them received a shock: an ultrasound photo with the words, “Hi Grandma and/or Grandpa” on it…
