#wonak

The grassy space next to the Touhy Westbound onramp onto 94

The grassy space next to the Oakton exit off 294

On top of the green blanket on our living room floor

The grassy space under the power lines

Dear Bit City,

I’m at the park and need a quick answer. Should I let my toddler walk around the edge of this empty concrete fountain all by himself? He really wants to.

Sincerely,

Tired Dad

Dear TD,

Every parent has to find the right balance between Helicopter Parent and Free-Range Parent. If you're too overbearing now, in just 10 years he'll rebel and flip his friend Shork's four-wheeler mid-fistpump. And if you let him live and learn like your dad did to you, well, then you're turning into your dad. Which is inevitable. You already floss like him (languidly).

When in a situation where you're not sure how much intervention your child needs, ask yourself the following questions:

1. How badly would my child get hurt? Are we talking ER visit? Because that is expensive.

2. How many other parents are watching this kid and wondering where the hell his

dad is? Is it just one or two, or is a whole murder of lacrosse moms looking for every reason to judge you? (He's already got a fudgsicle smear on his neck).

3. Can you use his sister to distract him, without having to get off the bench? Some kind of, "Calliope, go show Wolf the dead wasp you found!" You know he wants to do anything Calliope is doing.

After your assessment, act accordingly. But if you do intervene, make sure you're super casual about it so everyone knows you're not about to land on the helipad. And if you decide to keep sitting, stay at the park until all the other parents have left. If your son calls out your name, look the other way. Basically pretend like that jerk of a dad who didn't help his son on the fountain is someone else.

P.S. Have you ever really looked at the word "fudgsicle" just typed like that? It is truly hideous and we hate it.

Sincerely,

Sarah W. and Matt T.

With summer comes the possibility of storms, downed power lines and blackouts. And that's just another opportunity to Get Old Timey! Let's explore how you can entertain yourself like a nineteenth centuryer (that's got to be a word) the next time you find yourself powerless.

Hello, we're Martin & Sarah. We're busy professionals and parents and can't really keep up on pop culture, but we ARE taste-makers. As long as one of us has seen something, we feel pretty confident that we can write an excellent review. Here's our review of Downton Abbey.

Sarah: I've never actually seen the show. I've seen lots of vague facebook statuses about it, once listened to an NPR interview about how linguistically the script is NOT historically accurate, and saw a Slate headline for an article comparing Mad Men characters to Downton Abbey characters. (I did not click the link to learn more). I didn't even do any Internet research for this piece. So, yes. My opinion is ridiculously uninformed. But, I still have a right to my opinion, right? RIGHT. Look, I love this show. LOVE IT. It's true that I love any period costume drama, and would probably even love Two and a Half Men if they dressed in period costumes. But it's more than that. It's British! It's set in Victorian England! It's a little bit Jane Austen, a little bit PBS reality TV show Manor house, and a little bit lusty romance novel. What's not to love? This series is basically a re-telling of Upstairs, Downstairs, the classic British drama about nobles and the servants who work for them, which I’ve also never seen. I think I have seen an episode of Fawlty Towers, which I think is a comedy about servants starring John Cleese. Anyway, it's awesome seeing all the ways that the two classes clash - and how their perspectives are actually growing closer as we march on to modernity. Maggie Smith (aka McGonagal from Harry Potter) is in it! I'm pretty sure she plays a hard-nosed dowager who isn't willing to change with the times. (But has some intense love affair going on behind on the scenes). The best part, though, is the love triangle! There IS a love triangle, right? There's got to be. I am on Team Nice Guy/Underdog, obviously. Oh! He is such a heartthrob. Let me guess: The spunky ingenue, Elizabeth, grew up with the steward’s son, Oliver, who’s so nice and sweet and smitten with her. But she recently met Giuseppe, the dangerous, rich, Italian-born friend of her cousin, and she’s falling for him. Did I get it right, Martin? Martin: I’m proud to say that I’ve watched each and every minute of Downton Abbey and, Sarah, your ridiculously uninformed opinion is not wrong. In fact, while each and every detail is completely inaccurate, the larger picture you paint is good; it’s like you stood in front of a canvas, closed your eyes, and randomly flailed your brush, but the painting you ended up with was actually modernist and pretty compelling. The show is actually set just before (and, later, during) WWI (that was the war with the trenches, right?). Victorian England was like 1800 or something.  I also refuse to do any internet research on this. So let’s say that Victorian England was from 1750--1850 and World War 1 was from like the beginning of 1910 to maybe the end of 1910?  That means this show takes place from 1909--1911 (so far). Since the war begins and ends in the span of a single season, it certainly feels like it starts during a garden party in March and is over by Christmas (just in time for a Very Special Episode).  But nice try, Sarah. Anyway, there are definitely a lot of costumes and underdogs and servants and backstabbing and love and lust in Downton Abbey.  It’s soapy, sudsy, sumptuously shot, and sensational to look at.  The second season, however, really catapulted the show into Days-of-our-Lives-levels of subtlety and Candyland-levels of nuance, but it was still pretty watchable and addictive. Actually, Sarah, the thing that you got, startlingly, MOST/LEAST/SORT OF correct about Downton Abbey is Maggie Smith’s torrid behind-the-scenes love-affair: in fact, the show is mostly just a soft-core porn starring Dame Maggie Smith. Take it from me -- I’ve seen it all!

Halloween

Okay, the day itself is actually way more fun. Kids remind you that all the parts you've grown to dread about the holiday are actually really awesome: dressing up, answering the door, walking outside in the cold/rain at night. But the weeks that follow are torture. Do you have your kid eat all their candy at once, so at least their teeth only experience one "sugar event" (or as I like to call it, "sucrose black-tie affair") which can be easily brushed away? Or do you spread out the hyperactivity yet set yourself up for some cavities by allowing your kid one piece of candy a night for weeks? We tried the "eat it all tonight" route. Turns out our kid actually got sick of the candy after 4 or 5 pieces, so that didn't work. Also, did you know it's no longer cool for houses to hand out just one piece of candy? Kids expect handfuls of candy from each house, or a little pre-filled baggie. Are you kidding me? I'll gladly be the cheap old lady in the middle of the street who only gives one Tootsie Roll and smacks your hand if you try to take two. She always dresses in the same business-casual witch costume, and her cracked cement driveway is the most treacherous part of Halloween.   Easter

More candy, more candy battles. This is mostly what parenting is about: Kids want to eat candy all the time. Parents don't want them to. If I were to write a parenting guide, it would be 30% on how to avoid candy battles, and 70% just complaining about how you no longer have any time or get any sleep once you have kids. To prevent candy battles, I've taken to eating my kid's candy when she's not looking, especially any white chocolate. Other fun things about Easter: you're guaranteed to make at least one kid cry because you permanently lost one of their assigned eggs during the egg hunt. You really have no idea where you hid it. Way to go, Mom.   Valentine's Day

Did you realize this day is mostly about candy now, too? Ugh. Kids don't give just paper valentines. They're valentines attached to candy. Or sometimes candy, with space to write the valentine part. I can hear the dentists across the realm guffawing in their coppers. (Sorry, I'm re-reading the Song of Ice and Fire, and it's affected my writing.)   New Year's Eve

Oh man, remember when you used to celebrate by spending the night at Arimond's house in Barrington, drinking and hors d'oeuvre-ing all night and celebrating the first day of the new year with some Egg Harbor and a movie? My last New Year's Eve was spent hanging out in my living room with my in-laws. We had challenged them to stay awake until midnight, and my father-in-law had us watch WWE (yes, fake wrestling) for two hours to help him stay awake. We missed Ryan Seacrest, and even Janet Davies and Mark Giangreco's awkward midnight kiss, and instead were watching The Copyeditor or whatever his stupid name is. Everyone laughed when I suggested opening our 6-year-old bottle of champagne (like it wasn't a good idea or something?!?), and immediately went to bed. We didn't even toast water.   Daylight Savings Time

I know, I know. Not technically a holiday. But, when you're young and kid-less, you celebrate "falling back" by sleeping in late and then going to brunch. Not so once you have little farts to care for. It takes weeks for their inner clocks to adjust to the new time. In the fall, they now wake up an hour earlier, squealing at you at 3:30 in the morning. You try to lure them back to sleep in your own bed, and they just flip around and kick you in the head for hours. In the spring, bedtime becomes (even more) of a battle. Your 4-year-old's been in bed since 8, but it's 10:30 and she's singing and taking the attendance of her stuffed animals like it's mid-afternoon. I know the stuffed giraffe, mini monkey, giant chimp and baby doll, all named Lily, are glaring at her through their marble eyes that they are PRESENT and they want to JUST ONCE get some SLEEP.   The holiday that's suddenly way, way better: Christmas

In which Bit City contributors determine who's nerdiest.

Wonak: In fourth grade, I decided I wanted to design a brand-new haircut. I drew a picture of what I wanted so the hairdresser would know. In retrospect, I've realized I "invented" the mullet. My mom said I looked so much older with that haircut.

Young: When I was seven or so, I stuck a pair scissors in an electrical wall outlet. I wanted to plug into a computer like R2-D2. Sparks immediately started flying out and I swatted it out (if I'd grabbed it, I'd probably be dead). All the power in our house went out. My dad flipped the breaker to get power back on and he could tell that I'd done something but he couldn't figure out what.

Wonak: My senior year of high school, I was drum major of the marching band, co-captain of the forensics team, and president of the thespian society.

Young: In college I made a Robin costume (as in Batman &) and a Speed Racer costume. In college.

Trupe: In high school, I bought black suspenders and painted a white checkerboard pattern on them because I loved ska. I also made matching shoes by painting white patches on a pair of black Payless wingtips. The paint came off immediately.

Wilson: In high school I bought a Star Wars novel in hardback because I just couldn't wait.

Look, I know we've been stranded on this 'L' train for almost 30 minutes now. I know we haven't moved an inch, and we're not sure how long it will take us all to get home.

But your comparison to Speed is just far-fetched at best, and insulting at worst. First of all, that movie is 18 years old. It's old enough to vote, old enough to fight and die for our country. Just as the title died on your lips as you tried to reference it. "This is like that movie - where they're stuck on a bus? Hahaha."

Oh, the self-laugh. Keanu Reeves is rolling over in his grave. (I dreamt he died last night. Is that not true?)

Has it been 18 years since you've watched Speed? Have you really not caught it on TBS at some point in the last decade? Maybe you don't remember, but I do. I remember the terror that filled the bus passengers hearts, as they careened through traffic, with only chirpy Sandra Bullock and doofusy Keanu Reeves to steer them to safety. Sandra's armspan was barely bigger than the steering wheel itself! I remember the horror they all felt, as they jumped that divide, or drove off the unfinished highway, or whatever it was. I mean, it has been a while since I saw the movie, I don't remember the specifics. But I remember the relief they felt when they finally reached safety.

A Why and How-to Guide on Enjoying Old-Timey Things with Sarah Wonak!