Lily at 17 Months

A barefoot baby on the shores of Lake Michigan

It's been a busy few weeks at the Hacienda and the lack of blog posts is proof of that. We've had lots of out-of-town visitors, gone to several sporting events and concerts, and had plenty of outside time with Tooner (when it's not rainy, that is). It's hard to believe Lily is 17 months old already. At her last doctor appointment two months ago, she had grown to 30.75 inches tall and almost 22 pounds. I can only guess what she's up to now, because she's growing like a weed! She's also up to ten chompers and a full, fluffy head of hair.

Bert is such a backseat driver.

LIKES

• Scrambled eggs, dips, green bean casserole, and popsicles...or whatever is on Mommy's plate
  
• Drinking water from Big People Cups
• Hangin' at the playground - climbing anything and everything
  
• The Katy Perry/Elmo video
• Saying the words hi, Daddy, Mammy! (usually said with an exclamation point), cat, dog, duck, Elmo, me, all done and uh-oh!
• Animals of any kind
• But especially dogs ("Dobbies!")
• Hats and sunglasses (and putting them on herself and cruising around the house in full attire)
  
• Belly buttons ("Beebos") (her own...and lifting up your shirt to find your's...you've been warned)
  
• Babies (she calls anyone under the age of about 12 a baby) and chasing after them
  
• Goodnight Moon
  
• Brushing her teeth ("Teef!")

DISLIKES

• Not much, truth be told...
• Eating at restaurants that take a long time (are you our child?)
  
• When raisins get stuck at the bottom of the box
• Keeping her shoes on

Beaners at The Bean, which was actually named after her (don't try to do the math).

Mommy and Lily on "Mammie's Day."

When it hits 90 degrees, it's time to break out the watermelon balls. Holla.

She wastes no time bonding with the younger man.

April Showers Bring Burgers With Bourbon Soaked Pears

April - Handfelt'd.

There was a post-Christmas trip back to Iowa. I got my oil changed and tires rotated at Tires Plus (what what?), and Lily experienced the eternal glory that is Crossroads Mall, and more importantly Texas Roadhouse. Seriously though folks, is there any other restaurant in town? We waited a solid hour, with child, at a reasonable hour in the day. I know the bread and cinnamon butter are good, but would you really kill a fool for it? Apparently so, and fools abound, including the Handfelt/Fuller clan.

We also stopped off in Mason City on our way back to see Leo Schmitz and his parents. Leo wore a tie for the occasion. Lily wore a dress. Sparks flew, eyebrows were raised and future bed sides were discussed. No consensus was reached.

Later in the month, Cory visited, along with a pregnant Gretchen (DNA tests to be revealed on Maury) and the annual trip to Kuma's commenced. I was finally able to indulge in the Lair of the Minotaur; caramelized onions, pancetta, brie, bourbon soaked pears; I tackled Cory across the table and no one seemed to notice. Afterwards we witnessed the glories of Arcade Fire at the UIC Pavilion. My jeans spontaneously got skinner, but my music IQ shot through the roof, as did my potential to grow a wispy mustache.

Other than that? Lots of parks. Rainy days spent deciphering Lily's newfound grasp of the English language. And of course, a fair amount of Elmo and raisins.

Regular raisins are way better than the yogurt covered variety.

Running.

Mildly scary slide.

"Now we're ready to start. Getting jiggy that is!"

I got laid...by the minotaur.

Lily/Chicky

Maaaaalllllzzzzzz.

Lily and Leo. Who gets the remote?

Prodigious Father/Son Weekend Compared to Both WWII and Patrick Swayze's Career in Size and Scope

"I think I'm gonna get the hot dog with the goat cheese."

Bernie was confident in his selection.

"Are you sure? You like goat cheese?"

I was dubious. I wanted to be sure.

"That's the white one, right?"

There are many white cheeses.

"Well, yes, it's white."

"Well, that's what I'm getting then."

And so began our Father-Son Epic Sports Weekend 2011. (Trademarked until I think of something more clever...Daddy Would You Like Some Sausage Weekend is on standby.)

Actually it had begun a few hours prior, when Cory and Bernie pulled an April Fools' joke that would be chronicled in children's history books, were I not such an easy mark to begin with. You see, this weekend had been planned for months. As Bernie's Christmas present, Cory and I had given him the supreme gift of our company, along with attendance at consecutive Cubs, Bulls and Blackhawks games, respectively. The Cubs being of particular interest since it was Opening Day, and they were playing the Pittsburgh Pirates, who inexplicably remain Cory's favorite team. And along with these competitive sporting events, we would be dining at some of Chicago's finest dive restaurants, as featured on the Brigette Nielsen's show, Diners, Drive-in's and Dives.

Given that backstory, you can imagine my horror when Cory knocked on the door Friday morning (Day 1) without Bernie, claiming that he was back at the hotel, sticken with a severe stomach bug that would cripple even the tannest American Gladiator. Clad in only a towel and a shred of dignity, I quickly dressed, worrying that weekend was off to a ominous start already. Given Bernie's history of bowel and stomach related ailments, I certainly had no reason to doubt the validity of Cory's tale of woe. As we walked over to the hotel, I peppered Cory with a plethora of questions, and even resorted to waterboarding him to make sure he wasn't withholding any information.

We got back to the hotel, er motel, and through the window, I could see Bernie, lying on the bed, covers drawn up to his chin, looking like he was waiting on the sweet release of the Grim Reaper to put him out of his misery. In classic Cory fashion, he couldn't get the key to work, so he had to knock on the door. Dad finally stumbled out of bed, his bones creaking in the process, to open the door, before hurriedly returning to his bed, throwing in a few groans worthy of a Lifetime movie (think Corbin Bernsen) on his way back.

Concerned only about his health, as any good son would be, and not merely the prospect of having this meticulously planned weekend ruined, I asked him all the appropriate questions; "You think you'll be ok?", "Are you pooping alot?", etc etc. Finally, when I appeared to be at my wits end, my father leaped from the bed with an energy unseen since the late 80's (literally) and shouted "April Fools sucka!"

Cory laughed. That son of a b. I openly weeped on the outside, but let out a huge sigh of relief on the inside. At least we could still eat at Smoque and XOCO, allegedly ill parents be damned.

And so it began.

I can't imagine it's often that the Cubs/Bulls/Blackhawks all play at home on the same weekend, and even if they do, why would you ruin this special moment by telling me that?

What followed was a weekend of gluttony, male bonding and high fives not seen since Caligula was in office. Let's go to the videotape.

Friday: Pirates defeat Cubs, 6-3 in temperatures that would rightly anger a lifetime Eskimo. This makes Cory happy, as evidenced by his motorboating and oddly erotic laughter. Lunch was at Hot Doug's, which was deemed solid but not wholly spectacular, dampened by Bernie's mistaken affinity for goat cheese. Dinner was at Taste of Peru...again, dampened by a rogue accessory, this time cilantro (naturally).

Saturday: Lunch at Smoque BBQ. Let's just end it here. This is it. No really. I saw Jesus eating here in a corner booth, taking pictures of his ribs and proclaiming how he needed to blog about this before Moses (classic pretentious foodie) did so. Dinner at XOCO. In classic DWYLSS ('Daddy Would You Like Some Sausage') tradition, I ordered the best thing on the menu, creating food envy among the less handsome Handfelt men. That's not to say that they didn't enjoy theirs, but not as much as I would have liked them to. Dammit, this is Rick Bayless...you don't have to like him, but you respect him, much as you would a mustache! The Bulls defeated the Raptors that night 113-106. Our seats were in the 4th row, 2 rows above Scottie Pippen, clad in a velour purple blazer that I let him borrow. After the game, Cory and I enjoyed a few Schlitz bottles at The Wild Rover, gorging ourselves on microwave popcorn while being treated to a interpretive dance by the mildly obese and horribly intoxicated bartender. Good stuff.

Sunday: Breakfast at Paulines...classic rib sticker. Dinner at Peaquod's Pizza, which I will still knife fight anyone that says it isn't the best deep dish in the city. After that we head back to the United Center for the Blackhawks - Lighting game. Sure, we lost 2-0, but that's not to say it was all for naught. For one, our seats were actually in one of the luxury boxes. Free booze, food and more importantly...desert cart! Carrot cake, brownies, sugar cookies...are we at the Blackhawks game or Willy Wonka's Chocolate (Cheesecake) Factory? Well, I don't see Gene Wilder, so it must be the Blackhawks game, but I digress. And sure, this can be said about most sports, but hockey is so much cooler in person. Lots of loud white people, cheering on guys whose names seem to be missing a few key vowels. I have to imagine the amount of chest hair in that place would rival the original Woodstock (guys and girls).

Monday: a quick breakfast at A Taste of Heaven...it was ok...although I would hope the Lord doesn't overcook His breakfast casserole next time. But Bernie was introduced to brioche toast, which may or may not have changed his life.

All in all it was a fairly remarkable weekend. There were hits and there were misses, but I'm seasoned (with thyme) enough to know that asking for Chicago sports teams to come through in the clutch every time is an exercise in futility. The important part was the time we got to spend together, sharing laughs (braces!), craft beers, BBQ meats and portly waitresses' phone numbers. Ok, well Cory hasn't shared that yet, but I know he's got it in his phone somewhere. Sweet Caroline...

St. Louis Ribs, mac and cheese, cole slaw, brisket and peach cobbler at Smoque? (Breaks down sobbing, not caring who sees.)

Men at Work

Who is that guy in the Pirates hat? Johnny Depp? I don't know him.

Brioche toast for Bernie. Can you just tape a loaf of this to my gut?

This was the last time I remember having my gloves. Ernie Banks probably stole them. Ernie, those aren't batting gloves!

The Blackhawks suite. Nicer than you living room, believe that.

Careful guys, that's ice! Don't fall!

Who turned off the lights?

Whoa, weird Pirates shirt guy is here again! Is he a professional sports vendor?

Peaquod's pizza: also doubles as a pungent cologne when rubbed behind your ears.

Mango pancakes at Pauline's. Pauline, will you marry me? Just don't tell my wife! (High five)

L-R: Ben, Cory and Derrick Rose. He looks way different in person.

"Derrick, where is your blue button down you were wearing for our photo?"

I swear, we didn't even notice the Luv a Bulls. But Scottie sure did.

Things We Like: Turkish Cuisine

Turkish Cuisine, 5605 N. Clark Street. What with it's faded red awning, daringly generic name, and inevitable accompanying question, "What is Turkish cuisine?", it took us a while to dip into this local haunt, even though it's literally right around the corner from our apartment. Aren't we glad we did. This is Eurasian comfort food (huh?) at it's finest. On a recent blustery winter day, I put middle school biases aside and took a chance on some beef stroganoff...only to be rewarded with one of my Top 10 dishes I've tried...ever. The hummus, dipped in the piping hot loaf of complimentary bread sends visions of mustachioed Turkish men and Turkish women in plaid skirts, skipping hand in hand, dancing through your head. This place is legit, and if I ever win the Turkish Lotto, I'm eating here every day.

Milwaukee's Best

Back in the beginning of March, I packed my bags and hopped on Amtrack, heading up to the far north to a moderately populated region of the country called Milwaukee. No, I wasn't sent away to some federal prison with walls made out of orange cheese run by a obese, yet jovial warden named Merle, although don't think I haven't had that recurring dream. It was work (and food) related, although I did get some visitors of the fairer sex during my first weekend up there. Also, Katy and Lily came for a visit.

Lily quite enjoyed the lush life, or as lush as the Hyatt can provide. The long hallways were a source of fascination and a chance to run/wobble as if coyotes were chasing her. She was also a big fan of room service, so long as the order included baked goodies and scrambled eggs. The reason for the seemingly underwhelming journey was the Milwaukee Auto Show, which I was working. Much as Lily was smitten with room service and 600 thread count linens, I became smitten with the General Lee replica at the show and the Chevy Equinox, which I have my eye on as the next HHH pace car, to be used to drive in parades that are thrown in my honor.

Of course, what is a work trip without expense account dinners? Somewhat surprisingly, Milwaukee proved to be a culinary paradise. I tried Ethiopian food for the first time at Alem, and despite being told by my mother growing up, "There are starving kids in Ethiopia" every time I didn't finish my plate, I was still able to put this out of my mind and enjoy the fantastic meal and robust Ethiopian ales. We also met our friends Jenny and Bill out at Karl Ratzsch's German restaurant, where our company was matched only by the sauerbraten (please read that in a hard, angry German accent for effect).

I would be remiss to leave out the amazing margaritas and guac at Charro, or the world's best hungover breakfast at Trocadero. Seriously, if you can only have one beverage the rest of your life, make it one of their Bloody Marys. Even if you don't like Bloody Marys. Even if you hate women named Mary. Or blood. It doesn't matter. I guarantee after you try one of theirs, you'll send me a blank check and write, "All kidding aside, I know we've had our differences, but I love you more than anything" in the memo line.

As for Milwaukee, I don't love it more than anything, but it was certainly an affair to remember.

Red rum! Red rum!

Me and Gwinny could get used to this room service thing. (She's a baby, so she doesn't say 'Gwinny and I' yet. She's learning, give her time.)

Karl, you had me at Sauerbraten and Wiener Schnitzel served with Red Cabbage and Potato Dumpling

Ethiopian food at Alem. You tear apart that spongy stuff (injera) and pick up the stuff that looks like baby food. Don't let the looks fool you. This is what God serves when he has people over.

Haircuts and Hockey Pucks

While it would be foolish to argue that spring is in the air, at least in the literal sense, the cold weather has done nothing to dampen the spirits of the little one known as Lily Bryn. Chaff her pillowy cheeks a bit? Sure, why not? But no amount of freezing temperatures can quiet the sometimes maniacal laughter that this happy baby emits.

In the month since we last updated the internet (thus setting it abuzz with unbridled glee), we have kept busy with a myriad of activities. Friend of the blog Cody and his boy Milo came for a visit in February, and in the process I took off my Blackhawks chastity belt and attended my first game (and theirs). Apparently word got out to the players that I was in attendance, and they became so distraught that they lost their focus and ended up losing 3-2. I'm no longer permitted within 100 yards of the team, or anyone in a hockey jersey for that matter.

We also ate at Peaquod's (obligitory roof raise) and Chen's Chinese, which was immediately dubbed a fan favorite, not only by yours truly, but Milo and Lily as well. Lily loves a good crab rangoon, but who doesn't? Surely her mother, who counts seeing the "Crab Rangoon Fairy" out at a bar as one of her life's defining moments.

Friends Adam and Julie also visited, and in keeping with the sports theme, we ended up courtside to watch the Bulls dismantle the Utah Jazz at the United Center. Let me just say, those $8.50 beers go down a lot easier when you're sitting so close that you can hear shoe squeaks. It also eliminates having to drink until your seats seem like they're good. The only downside being that sitting that close, you realize that Omer Asik could use some better moisturizer. Although I'm told that most people, especially men, wouldn't notice that.

Speaking of grooming, Lily also got her first haircut a few weeks back. The old mop top was starting to get a bit crazy, and quite frankly, she was beginning to resemble MacGruber. She sat frozen in her race car chair, unable to emote anything besides pure, unbridled fear. She sat silent...worrying, wondering, hoping for a better tomorrow. And dammit if she didn't come out looking like a million bucks.

Switching to more devastating news, segues be damned, our car, dear Chandler, was vandalized last weekend. Some hooligan decided it would be a good idea to take out our passenger side rear window with a bat and put a dent in the body in the process. Listen, I'm as excited about baseball season as the next guy, but surely there are better ways to celebrate! This coming a mere days after I had finally decided to give up sleeping in the car with a shotgun.

Of course, with Saturn being a casualty of the GM downsizing a few years back, the glass for the window was apparently more rare than the sight of Anderson Cooper in the embrace of a woman, so the cost was exorbitant and unwieldy. Never the less, Chandler has now recovered from his reconstructive surgery and looks as good as new. And I've resumed sleeping in the car with a shotgun. (It's a fluorescent green toy gun, but I think it still sends a message.)

More posts coming soon, I promise. I'm typing them as we speak (well, after I'm done with this one at least). Tenderloins, Milwaukee, Alinea...if that doesn't spell Sweeps Week, I don't know what does.

Oh yes. On a random side note. Loyal readers will remember that at one point we had dropped the blogspot and picked up the Lord. Well if you remember that (unlikely), you'll also recall that after I let the domain name lapse, some savvy entrepeneur swooped in and grabbed it before I could renew the site name, forcing me to go back to blogspot (who have cooler layouts anyway). Well, ladies and gentlemen, I give you www.handfelthappyhour.com! Because when I think of anything Handfelt related, I immediately think of computer games. (Actually if we're talking about my mom, I do.)

Lily and Dad

Cody and Milo

Cody's beard and Katy's beard

Lily will forever be terrified of Edward Scissorhands.

Toothiness

Lily and Dad romping on Presidents' Day. Kid is starting to get some chompers, the better which to say 'hi' with at the 2:00 mark.