Airplane Success!

Oliver (and Andrew and I) survived the round trip flights to Chicago! On the way there, we flew Frontier. There was one empty seat on the entire plane, and it was next to Andrew and me. So, Oliver was able to have his own seat! He relaxed, drank milk and ate cookies, and watched music videos. I'm pretty sure he thought flying was the greatest thing ever. It went so well that I was even able to do a few sudoku puzzles, and Andrew was able to play a game of Magic on the laptop.

The way back was a whole different can of worms. We flew American Airlines on the way back. Because we had to drop my parents off at a different airport for an earlier flight (they were flying Frontier back), we arrived really early--5:45pm for our 8:30pm flight. We checked our bags and made our way through security. We grabbed some dinner at the food court, and then we made our way to the gate. H12. It said H12 on our ticket, and we confirmed it by checking the monitors. We set up shop at H12.

Oliver had a lot of energy, and we decided it was best to let him run it off before boarding the plane. It's difficult to let a toddler run around in such a busy airport (O'Hare is one of the busiest in the world). There were no empty gates, so we'd let him run down the hallways while we followed him and prevented him from running into anyone's way. Andrew and I alternated so the other could rest. Well, I'm sitting at the gate with a stroller and a diaper bag. A man asks me if he could sit next to me. I said sure. A few minutes later, Oliver and Andrew came back. Oliver started playing with his toys. One is a Transformer that makes noise. The man next to me was shooting us evil looks the entire time. I was thinking, "What the heck?! Switch seats, then." It wasn't like he was there first and we came in making noise. And it's not like there weren't empty seats around the gate.

At 8:15pm, I started to wonder why there was no plane at our gate. For the nearly two hours we were at the gate, there was never a flight attendant. I realized our flight might be delayed. I went back to the monitors and saw that we were moved to gate H14, and our flight time was delayed to 8:45pm. So, we shuffled over past the bathrooms to our new gate. It was already boarding, but thankfully I was able to get the stroller gate-checked before it was too late.

We boarded the plane, and it was hot and miserable. It was at least 80 degrees inside. After waiting about 15 minutes after everyone boarded, the pilot announced that take-off would be delayed a little as we got new oil in an engine or something. So, we sat and waited in the heat. Thankfully, we had a sippy cup with a little water in it. We started to ration it because there were no flight attendants or anyone coming around with water. All around us, kids started crying and screaming. Oliver stayed strong. As time went by, all the adults were starting to complain. I was getting overheated, and so was Oliver We stripped him down to his diaper. Although there was almost no air coming out of the vents, Andrew aimed his at us to try to keep us cool. I wanted Oliver's water so badly but wanted him to have it more.

After about half an hour, they moved the plane away from the gate. Then, we sat there, not moving, for another hour with no explanation. I have no idea how Oliver managed to not cry. I was trying not to panic, but Oliver was phenomenal. At one point, I let him slide the shade to the window up and down for entertainment. Mind you, it was dark outside, so it wasn't like he was constantly cutting off light to the plane. Still, the teenager ahead of us had an attitude about it and kept glaring at me. I was pissed because I was hot and pissed at him for thinking that a window shade was noisy. Would he rather the child be screaming??

After an hour and a half sitting on the hot, hot plane with no water or explanation, we took off. The pilot announced that the weather was very poor going west, so our flight path was changed. We were going to go up north through Minnesota and head west through the Dakotas and then back south to Denver. The new flight was about 3 hours, so we were on the plane for about 4.5 hours, about twice as long as we'd expected. Oliver slept for much of the flight, but the turbulence was so bad that it was difficult to keep him asleep. He cried out a few times but never got hysterical. Meanwhile, I started crying from the turbulence and a woman across the aisle started praying aloud in Hebrew from her Torah. The turbulence was that bad.

We landed around midnight local time. My dad drove back to the airport to pick us up, since we were so delayed. He said they had minor turbulence on their Frontier flight, but it wasn't that bad like it was on our American Airlines flight. It was absolute misery.

Andrew made me swear that we'd never fly American again. We've never had good service with them. Even though this flight was free with our miles, it didn't matter. It was so terrible that I wished we'd just paid the rest of the ticket to fly round trip with Frontier.

Lamb Cake: It's a Tradition, I Swear

The following blog entry is a somewhat winded story about the tradition of the lamb cake. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then I guess you've never been to Chicago during Easter. You're not missing much, but it's got people sentimental all the same.

I mention her frequently in my posts, but I need to start this one by saying that my Grandma Jo was such an important person in my life. She loved holidays, and she made them special for me and my siblings. Every Easter season, she would dye eggs herself. We'd go to her house, where she lived alone, and there would be a crystal basket of dyed eggs waiting for her to enjoy. She did it because she liked it.

On Easter morning, we'd wake up and find our baskets from the Easter bunny. After enjoying our goodies, we'd get dressed and head over to Grandma's. She'd be waiting there, wearing her Easter Bunny ears, and take us out to the courtyard of her condo to hunt the eggs she'd hidden. Afterwards, we'd go in to eat, and the meal was always followed up with a lamb cake.

Her lamb cakes always came from Jewell. They were made of pound cake and stood up. The head was made of plastic, and the whole thing was frosted and covered in coconut. The cake lay in a bed of plastic, green Easter grass. It was tacky, and I didn't like coconut, but it was tradition.

When we moved to Colorado from Chicago, we were disappointed to discover that no grocery store or bakery (that we found) sold a lamb cake. We were older and no longer enjoyed egg hunts, and so Easter tradition slowly fizzled.

This year, I started to think of the lamb cake, and I thought it would be nice to make one for my mom. I looked up a recipe and did a search online for a lamb cake mold. Before making any purchases, I decided not to make the cake. I reminded myself that I don't like coconut, and it'd be a lot of work. I wasn't sure if my mom would appreciate it all that much anyway.

I spent the morning at my parents' house. Grandma Jo came up in conversation, and I thought to mention the lamb cake. My mom got excited about it and told me how much it reminded her of her own grandma (Grandma Jo's mother, my Oma). I laughed and told her how it reminded me of Grandma Jo. She explained that Oma bought one every year. I learned later (from my Aunt Jackie) that Oma purchased it from Weiden's Bakery in Chicago. Grandma Jo always bought hers from Jewell-Osco. My mom told me the lamb cakes didn't always have plastic heads as I'd remembered, and part of the fun was cutting off the head. I laughed and told her the fondness for me was how tacky the cake was, and I loved the plastic head. We then reminisced a bit. She remembered black jelly beans for eyes, but I insisted the ones we had when I was little never had jelly bean eyes (which makes sense since the head was plastic). We both remembered the coconut and Easter grass.

Before long, we talked each other into baking a lamb cake. We drove to Hobby Lobby, World Market, and Michael's. There were no lamb cake molds for sale. I called my mother-in-law who recommended a cake shop in Englewood, and so we set out. We arrived and inquired about a lamb cake pan. Success! They had four. One lady asked us if we'd called earlier. We had not, so I assume someone else was on the hunt. My mom and I bought our pan and some cake trays, and then we headed out to the store for supplies. Unfortunately, all the Easter grass was sold out, but we felt confident we bought all the remaining essentials.

When it came time to extract the baked pound cake from the mold, my dad wandered over. I told him the head was a little weak. He said, "Oh, my grandma always put a popsicle stick in the neck." Then he wandered outside for a smoke. I couldn't help but follow to hear more. I was surprised to hear that his family also had the tradition, and I was further surprised to hear his grandma (Grandma Kelly) baked the cake. My dad joked, "My brothers and I would always complain and ask her to let us eat some before she put all the coconut on it." I laughed because I thought the coconut was the worst part, too. He told me that his grandma had a very old mold that she used to bake it in.

At that moment, I realized that the lamb cake must be a tradition in Chicago. It doesn't exist in Denver, but it's so mainstream in Chicago that you can buy them at the grocery store. It must be an old tradition, too, because both of the great-grandmothers that I knew had lamb cake for Easter. When I got home, I started searching through articles online. Other than info on how to make them and where to buy the molds, there was almost no information at all. There wasn't anything on wikipedia about the lamb cakes. I found one article that briefly mentioned them and said they were Polish (my German family also shares Polish roots). However, another article said the Polish tradition is actually butter molded into the shape of a lamb (another Easter item familiar to us from Chicago but not Denver). Yet another article briefly mentioned the lamb cakes and said they were Czech.

Finally (finally), I found one blurb of an article in a Chicago dining website. Here's the link: http://www.diningchicago.com/blog/2010/04/01/easter-means-lamb-cake-in-chicago/
According to this article, it's a Catholic tradition that has taken off in Chicago, where there were many Catholic immigrants (my great-grandparents on my mother's side were some). My father's grandmother was not Catholic (at least, I don't believe so), and her family was Danish. My dad described her lamb cake mold as very old, so I imagine the tradition goes back before her time. I wonder if her family picked it up after they immigrated to Chicago in the 19th century or if their tradition started in Europe.

My internet searches led me to an editorial in the Chicago Tribune. It's a personal story written by a woman who married a man from the South Side of Chicago (where my parents' families are from). His family was very traditional, and his aunt baked a lamb cake (article here: http://articles.chicagotribune.com/1999-03-31/features/9903310026_1_lamb-aunt-betty-easter). Indeed, the "tacky" lamb cake tradition must be an old one in the Second City. I continued browsing deeper and deeper into my Google search. I found a fraction of an article in the Chicago Sun-Times (http://www.highbeam.com/doc/1N1-12ECE503A28C5C40.html) that explained that the tradition is also still popular in Europe, especially in Poland.

Even though the history of the lamb cake is vague at best, I truly enjoyed learning that my family (on both sides) participated in the tradition. It was also fun to make our own lamb cake. To be honest, I couldn't even stay long enough to finish decorating it, and I find it so cute to think of my mom and dad decorating the cakes together. Yes, cakes. My mom told me that we should make two so I could bring one with me to Easter brunch tomorrow with Andrew's family. The best part is that two of Andrew's father's cousins will be there, and they're from the Chicago area. I'm eager to find out if they recognize the lamb cake, too. If not, everyone will just assume I brought a tacky cake. Too bad.

Changing Tables, Nursing Stalls, and Other Finds

I'm really impressed with the accessibility of baby changing tables and nursing stalls in Chicago. The coolest place I discovered was the bathroom at the eatery at the Ridge Mall.

Sam took me there after Oliver took a poopy, and I was floored. I walked in, and a set of comfortable chairs greeted me. On the wall, there were toys for toddlers to play with. On the opposite wall, there were large closet-like rooms with soft chairs for nursing. There were curtains to pull for privacy. Perpendicular to those rooms was a long wall with a counter that ran along it. The counter had about a dozen insets to lay babies down to change their diapers. Next to each station was a sink and a diaper disposal drawer. Last but not least, there was a vending machine that was filled with nutritious children's snacks, including baby food, a portable container of Cheerios, Horizon organic milk, and Gerber finger foods. It was remarkable! I felt like I was in baby heaven.

Midway Airport was not quite as impressive, but they still outdid themselves. I arrived for my flight about four hours early. During my wait, Oliver, of course, needed to be nursed. I was nervous about nursing him by myself in public. I decided to search for a private area. First, I stopped in the family bathroom to change Oliver's diaper. It was perfect! It was a large bathroom with a changing station and a wide chair for nursing as well as a toilet for me. Best of all, it was private. I was able to change Oliver, nurse him, and use the bathroom without a problem. I wish I could personally thank the person who took the time to build that!

Now in Denver, we've returned to the land of bathrooms with no changing stations and no nursing areas. At DIA, Andrew took Oliver to the men's room to change his diaper. He returned a minute later with the news: there was no changing station. I took Oliver in the women's room. No changing station there. I checked the handicapped stall. No changing station there. Back out I went. Andrew and I changed Oliver on the carpet of the baggage claim. At least that's better than changing him on the tile of a restroom floor like I've been known to have to do many times!

Hopefully, Denver will start to make strides in making their public areas more accessible for families with young kids. In the meantime, mind the naked baby on the floor.