On naming.

I have the following conversation about, oh, fifty times a day.

--
Friend/family member/colleague: "Aw, you're having a girl? Do you have a name picked out?"
Me: "Not really."
F/FM/C: "Do you have any contenders?"
Me: "Not really."
F/FM/C: "Well, I can't wait to find out!"
Me: Smiles, changes subject
--

For reasons unknown to me, my mom has been telling everyone our daughter's name is Olivia. Even my dad, who called to tell me how much he liked our choice. (Thanks, Mom.) Don't get me wrong, I think Olivia is a darling name. But it's not the name we've chosen. And yes, we've chosen a name. Tentatively. And no, we are not sharing it with you, even though you are by far our favorite parent/friend/sibling/colleague/fellow blogger. And here's why:

People are rude.

Not you, of course. You're delightful and kind. And I'm certain the rudeness is unintentional. But it seems even the nicest people have no problem saying things like "You're kidding, right?" or "Oh, I knew a ________ in high school, she smelled bad" or "Oh, that's really popular. How about _________?" in response to potential (and even final) baby names.

Which is just...no. Not okay. Why would anyone think that's okay?

Unless you were an active participant in the child's creation, will be pushing it out of your hooha, or plan to cover its expenses from birth through age 18, you don't get to voice your opinion on this matter. Instead, you get to say "Oh, that's wonderful!" or "I'm sure little Zelda will be just beautiful" or "What a lovely tribute to your great grandfather's sister's brother!" because someone has just been kind enough to open up and share something very personal and exciting with you.

You do not get to say "Wow, um, huh. That's different..." to the child's parents while making a face like you just swallowed a gallon of spoiled milk.

We got a wide range of reactions to Calvin's name. Some loved it, others did not. While it hurt my feelings to hear negative feedback on a name Nate and I had lovingly and thoughtfully selected for our baby, we still used it. Because it was OUR perfect name for OUR child. And I don't think there's a person out there who would say the name Calvin doesn't fit our son. In fact, I've yet to meet a child who didn't fit their name, even when it's a name I wouldn't choose myself.

Names are 100% subjective, and everyone has their own criteria for choosing one. Nate and I like classic, old-fashioned names with a twist. Names you can say and spell easily, but that aren't commonly used. And we both feel strongly about using family names. Calvin's middle name is John, which is both Nate's middle name and the first name of his beloved grandfather. Our daughter's middle name will carry on that tradition. In choosing our children's names, we strive to honor our families while still expressing our own tastes — and the dreams we have for our kids and who they'll grow to be.

Truth is, names that sound silly or stupid or downright ugly to me and you might be beautiful and meaningful to someone else — for reasons we don't know or understand. Which is why I firmly believe the only appropriate response to someone else's baby name is a glowing one. No faces, no offering other options, no opinions. Just smiles and congratulations, and maybe a few jokes with your significant other behind closed doors later on if it's really terrible.

So, yes. Nate and I are pretty sure we have a name for our daughter. And we'll be more than happy to share it with all of you...as soon as she's born.

We're hoping it will be harder for people to make the spoiled milk face while looking at our pretty girl.

Let this be a warning.

Three things hairdressers should refrain from saying to a mother during her child's first haircut:

1) "You really can't keep the curls. I can do it, but it would look weird. Like this. Do you want it to look like this?" In response to my request to just trim up the back, leaving some of his baby curls.

2) "No, they won't." In response to Nate's reassuring "Honey, they will probably grow back!"

3) "Are you going to be okay, Mom?" Sarcastic and patronizing, in response to my curt "Fine. Cut it."*

I could have punched her, but instead I let her chop off Calvin's baby curls because I don't want him to look "weird." And of course he still looks adorable and his shaggy mane is much more manageable.

But I still could've punched her, and she would have deserved it.

You don't criticize the curls. For some of us, they're all we've got.

Before:




During:




After:




*For the record, it takes a LOT for me to be rude to someone in a service position. I pride myself on having good manners. This chick pushed me over the edge.

Variety pack.

1) I need mascara recommendations. I have tried just about every kind out there to no avail — from CoverGirl to Dior Show. In fact, I may have tried some of them more than once, because they all sound the same. Lash Blaster! Blast Lashter! Megablaster Lashtastic! How's a girl to choose when they are ALL lashtastic and offer me XXL Extreme Lash Volume!?

I am not opposed to paying exorbitant amounts of money for the perfect mascara,* though I'd kind of like to know for sure it's the perfect mascara before doing so. Help a sister out!

*I don't really mean that, Nate. Truly, I never pay more than um, well...you're in two fantasy football leagues! Stop asking questions!

2) I'm really annoyed with the Gap. I ordered two pairs of jeans online last week, including one pair of Long and Leans (my trusty and reliable old friend). They are awful. AWFUL. I may as well have purchased skinny jeans. They make me look neither long nor lean (not that I was looking for a miracle fix on that second one, but for real - don't name your pants something hopeful if they only provide the opposite effect). I can't imagine anyone over the age of 30 or weight of 130 would be interested in wearing these pants. Ugh. From the looks of things (i.e. skinny jeans as far as the eye can see) I may be stuck wearing skirts all winter. Which might be tolerable, provided I am able to purchase this.

3) Project Runway has been extremely stupid this season. The only redeeming moment so far? Last night when Tim Gunn called Gretchen manipulative right to her face. Oh, how I love that man.

4) On the subject of TV, I miss Ugly Betty. The TV Guide channel has been running reruns of that show, and I'm falling in love with it all over again. Why do shows I love get canceled?

5) On the subject of Ugly Betty, I am desperate to own the song played during Hilda's wedding — "Be My Only" by Tim Myers and Schuyler Fisk. I don't know who Tim Myers is, but I love Schuyler Fisk ("Paperweight" is one of my all-time favorite songs) and I'm mad that it's not available anywhere for purchase. The only way to hear it right now is on You Tube, where you have a few lovely viewing options. I think my favorite is the one accompanied by a still photo of a squirrel.

6) Fun fact: Schuyler Fisk played Kristy in The Babysitter's Club Movie.

7) This has turned into one seriously weird post. I'm going to stop now.

8) Happy Friday!

Sweater weather.

I look at this, and I just want to sit down on the floor and cry.


I don't want to cry because the humidity is 83% (my hair looks awesome, btw) or because it's going to storm all day today (don't mind that a bit, actually). I want to cry because I am so. sick. of. summer.

Upper eighties and sun every day for the foreseeable future? Waaaaaaaaaaaah!

I hate being hot. The only thing I hate more is the thought of being stuck in an elevator or constricted in some way (just a tad claustrophobic over here). Being hot is gross. Frizzy (or, in my case, frizzier) hair, sweaty skin, sticky clothes...blegh. Unless I am parked in a chair next to the ocean or a pool, I don't want anything to do with heat.

So, I think we can all agree it's a good thing I live in Minnesota. Although — you may want to sit down for this — Minnesota summers get hot. And really, really humid. Contrary to popular belief, we do not spend our summers wearing snow pants and scraping ice off our car windshields. We spend it sweating in shorts, just like the rest of you.

Minnesotans — They're Just Like Us!

Between hot and cold, I prefer cold. When you're cold, you don't sweat. Your hair might be dried out, but it doesn't look like you just put your hand on one of those electricity ball things. Your (okay, my) pasty white skin remains covered at all times. And when the cold becomes unbearable, you simply add another layer. Whereas with heat...well, you can only get so naked.

I enjoy the early months of summer. June is lovely here, early July is tolerable. But by the time mid to late July rolls around, I'm over it. I'm dreaming about fall — crisp leaves, pumpkin scented candles, brisk air. I'm ready to go shopping for new jeans and sweaters. I'm ready to light a fire in the fireplace I wish we had. I'm ready for — dare I say it? — a little bit of snow.

Yeah, no. I shouldn't have said that. Because before I know it, the forecast is going to look a lot like this again.

Oh, Minnesota. I have such a love/hate relationship with you.

Is there a state where it's always fall?

Finnish.

We're moving to Finland! Just thought you'd like to know.

As I read through the FAQs of the hugely popular new blog Mila's Daydreams (the most delightful thing I've seen in a long time, truly), I came across this response to a question regarding her daughter's clothes:

In Finland mothers are truly blessed, we all get a big maternity package from government. There's lot of clothes and all the crucial baby stuff you need to have with your newborn.

The link directs you to Kela, the social insurance institution of Finland. Which apparently provides a package of adorable baby clothes to new parents. As well as a paid maternity leave beginning up to fifty days prior to baby's due date, and lasting up to 105 days total.

Wow. I know that's only a couple of months, but it's a couple of months paid.

I got two weeks of paid leave. Took another two weeks of short-term disability at 60% of my salary. Then two weeks of vacation, which left me with zero days for the rest of the year once I returned. Then...nothing. Oh, no. That's not true. I got another two weeks of pay when I returned to work. Accompanied by a bill for the insurance premiums my employer covered while I was on leave — the cost of which pretty much negated that final paycheck.

It took us nearly a year to save enough for me to take a 16-week maternity leave. And I'm one of the really lucky ones who a) got paid and b) got to take that much time off without penalty. I have many friends who received even less — or no — paid leave. I have no idea how we'll swing it with the next one. Saving that much money again will be darned near impossible now that we've added the cost of daycare to our monthly bills, and I'll probably have to go back to work much sooner than I had to with Calvin — a sickening thought.

I did a Google search for parental leave and landed on this Wikipedia page, which details the leave policies of countries all over the world. A quick scan tells you that the United States has the worst parental leave policy of the bunch. Paid leave is not granted nor required by law, and employers are only responsible for holding your job if you are covered by FMLA.

Way to be progressive, United States.

It's time to get packing. To qualify for benefits you have to live in Finland 180 days before your due date, and I'd like to get settled in before we think about having more kids.

But first I need to call Nate and fill him in on our relocation plans. I think he'll be fine with it, if for no other reason than the female president's striking resemblance to Conan O'Brien.

F.

F is for family reunion, which we planned to attend this weekend. A day up north on the lake with Nate's extended family, who we rarely get to see.

F is for four hours, the length of drive we had ahead of us Saturday morning. Which is why we planned to leave as close to 7am as possible.

F is for frustration, which is what I felt when Nate called me on Saturday morning to inform me that the dog boarding place does not open at 7am, but 9am — putting us two hours behind schedule.

F is for the many four letter words I could have uttered (but didn't) when we discovered, an hour later, that our car had been broken into overnight, our window shattered, and our GPS stolen.

F is the letter grade I give myself for assuming I knew what time the boarding place opened, and for leaving the GPS on the dashboard when I should have put it away (since when am I new to city living??).

F is for FAIL, which is what Progressive gets for saying they'd have someone call us to set up our repair by end of day Monday. For a claim filed early on Saturday. Gee, thanks.

F is for fixed, which is what our window is after a very nice man from Safelite came to replace it on Saturday afternoon. Don't worry, Progressive. We took care of it. Still anxiously awaiting your call, however!

F is for fun, which we still managed to have this weekend despite a busted window, a missed trip, severe weather, and a child who refused to sleep for about four hours in the middle of the night last night.

F is for my very fabulous husband, who makes life's adventures bearable...and even a little funny.

Something tells me Nate did not find the shattered window as photo-worthy as I did.


Say what? What do you mean we're not going??


Man, I was really looking forward to that long car ride. Guess I'll just simulate as best I can from inside the house.


Luckily, we still had access to our Civic. Our very roomy two-door Civic. The perfect choice for an active family!


It was no day at the lake, but we still manged to get in a $12, 45 minute trip to the pool before Calvin had a total meltdown and the storms rolled in.





Mom, do you realize you're only wearing spf 30? Have you already forgotten about Mexico?


Enjoying a post-nap snack from his favorite perch.


Calvin was not the only one delighted by the prospect of bedtime Saturday night. He went to bed at 7:20. We went to bed at 7:20:05.


Sunday we went on a picnic, which Calvin found a little strange. He looked at me like "Where is my high chair? Where is that bib you always force me to wear?" He didn't let a little confusion deter him from eating his weight in food, however.




And then we forced him to ride the wheel of terror.


The only way to unwind after a wild ride like that? Footed pjs and crocs.


An ice cold beer from the cooler (all packed up for our non-trip... please note, we do not condone alcohol consumption by one year olds).


And one last swim.

The Roll.

Probably the hardest thing for me to deal with over the past two months has been my body.

It's not good. My hips are wider, I'm flabbier from months of decreased activity, and my stomach...oh, my stomach.

While I haven't been skinny in years, I still try my darndest to keep from having a fat roll hanging over the top of my pants. At least while standing up.

Mind you, this is tricky. When you don't work out and have a penchant for french fries, there's bound to be some flab around the middle. Which means you have to dress for it. Either by wearing jeans that hit at a good spot, or wearing shirts that are a little flowier, or dressing in layers. I haven't quite mastered this skill, but I've been trying really hard. Which is why one of the highlights of wearing maternity clothes was the waistband of my pants. It lays flat — no rolls. Plus my belly was hard and smooth and cute...not something to hide.

But now, post-baby, I feel like one big fat roll. It didn't matter that I lost all 30 pounds of my baby weight within two weeks. I still couldn't get into a single pair of my pants until four weeks, and those were my fat pants. At nearly eight weeks I am now wearing my regular pre-pregnancy clothes. However, I cannot avoid the roll.

My stomach is like a separate entity, a striped blob just stuck on my front. (Striped because I suffered what is quite possibly the most extreme case of stretch marks ever in the last few weeks of my pregnancy. I thought I escaped them, but then at 30 weeks one popped up...then at 32 weeks about 40 more popped up. It's not pretty.) And dressing for it is not as easy as I'd hoped.

When I went to my six-week checkup, my midwife asked if I'd started exercising yet (yes, I try to get an hour-long workout in daily, what with all the time I have these days) and then advised me to tie something like a towel around my waist before doing my "ab work" to help bring those muscles back together.

My question is this: Who said I planned to fix this roll situation with ab work?

My only plan is to begin searching for new pants. Maybe some with a stretchy waist...

Fall into the Gap.

When you're tall, there are few places to find reasonably-priced pants. The Gap and Banana Republic are two excellent options, as they carry tall sizes and their pants typically fall between the $50-$100 range. Not cheap, by any means, but reasonable. And as I'm sure we can all agree, good pants are worth a little extra.

Because they rarely carry long lengths in their stores, I've pretty much devoted myself to shopping online. The good people at the Gap, Inc. distribution center probably know me by name, because I've been ordering from them for about eight years, and my orders are always huge. I can't just pick out a pair of jeans online and assume they'll fit — I usually order at least four pairs of jeans or pants at a time so I have some options. And then I send whatever doesn't work back — which is totally painless, given Gap's 90-day free returns policy. All you have to do is print out the handy little return label and drop it off at UPS within 90 days of your purchase. Previously you had the option of returning it by mail (at a cost) or to the store. When they eliminated the option of returning to the store I was a little bummed, but they made up for it by implementing the free returns by mail policy.

I have continued ordering online from the Gap throughout my pregnancy, because as previously stated/whined about, it is nearly impossible to find long length maternity pants. The Gap has the corner on this market, so at the end of February (just as the rest of my jeans were starting to look seriously ratty), I placed a big order with them — three pairs of jeans, a shirt, and a pair of chinos. Two pairs of the jeans worked out, as did the shirt, but the remaining pair of jeans was not cute, and the chinos, while attractive, were not really seasonally-appropriate. But I decided to hang on to them for a while, because I thought maybe once the weather started to turn I'd be happy to have them. And I figured the 90 day return policy would actually cover the rest of my pregnancy, so if I never got around to wearing them while pregnant, I could still return them.

Well, shoot.

Last week I decided to return them — I hadn't thought about them once since I tried them on in February, which I felt was a pretty good indication that I didn't need them. So I went online to print out my free UPS label, and found that not only do returns by mail cost $6.00 again, they have to be received within 45 days of purchase.

What?

I subscribe to the Gap, Banana and Old Navy emails. I am a very regular (and I would assume, valued) customer. Those stores make a crapload of money off of me. And they didn't even have the decency to let me know they changed their return policy?

I quickly did some math: I ordered the pants 40 days ago, so I was still in the clear. But what if I hadn't decided to return them last week and I missed my 45-day window of opportunity? Would I be stuck with two pairs of pants I don't want? (I realize there is probably a lesson in here somewhere about not abusing the return policy...)

Anyway, I understand that the economy is total crap and all that, but they could have at least let their regular online customers know they changed the policy. And they could also reinstate the in-store returns policy. As of right now, there is no free way to return unwanted merchandise. Which is really pretty unfair, especially to those of us who have to shop online because they don't carry long lengths in store.

Being tall is difficult enough. But being tall and pregnant? WAAAAAAAH.

Next up: my rant regarding Motherhood Maternity's exchanges only policy. What the heck.

Crimes of fashion.

Five reasons I dislike high fashion, courtesy of Alexander McQueen via Jezebel:



















































































I'm sorry, WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?

Ew.

Not so Super.

I hate Super Target. And quite possibly Pledge, though that might be misplaced hatred. For all I know, that's Super Target's fault, too.

It wasn't hard for me to fall in love with Target. Growing up I had much more experience with Walmart — Target didn't arrive in Joliet until I was in high school, and even then it was kind of a hike from where we lived. (Now you can turn either way out of my parents' subdivision and hit one within 5 minutes.) Also, we spent a LOT of time at Walmart in college. It was the closest superstore to Taylor (that crappy Kmart in Gas City doesn't count), and provided countless hours of entertainment (I have taken many pictures in Walmart...including one of my friend Bri in a canoe, one of my friend Ali smelling a wall of fake flowers, and one of me sitting on a race car made out of Bud Light boxes. Classy). But when I moved to Minnesota there wasn't a Walmart within the Minneapolis/St. Paul area. So, off to Target I went.

And oh, I loved it.

It didn't take long for me to become a full-fledged member of the Target fan club. Why would it? Target is amazing. It's clean and pretty and trendy and has cheap clothes. One of my favorite things to do after work (before I had to get home every night to my dog) was wander aimlessly around Target, buying a random assortment of things I didn't need. Cute shirts, cute shoes, cute home stuff...cute, cute, cute.

And then Super Target came to town. Both of the primary Targets in my life — one across the street from my office, one by my home — went from being boring old regular Targets to shiny new SUPER Targets. I was ecstatic. Cute shirts, shoes and home stuff PLUS a full range of groceries? No way!

No way was right.

Believe me, I feel I am being kind when I say this: Super Target SUCKS. I can't stand it. It's ridiculously crowded. People let their kids run wild. I can't find anything. They have a crappy produce selection. And they are always out of products I need, or they don't carry them at all. Every single time I have attempted to grocery shop at Super Target, I've had to stop at Rainbow on my way home to pick up something they didn't have. And it's usually for something stupid. For example, once I went there to pick up saltine crackers. They didn't have ANY. The entire shelf of saltines was empty. No brand name, no store brand. Nothing. Can it get more basic than saltines? I've found that to be the case with things like cheddar cheese and yogurt, too. And forget about it if you're looking for any type of specialty ingredients for a recipe. (And by "specialty" I mean things like capers. Not exactly fancy fare.)

I believe the goal in creating Super Target was ultimate convenience for the customer. But there is nothing convenient about having to stop at another grocery store for saltines.

This leads me to my complaint about Pledge. Which is somewhat related, seeing as I still shop at Target for household products (and cute shirts, shoes and home stuff), if not groceries.

Pledge keeps introducing products, and then pulling them off the shelf before I am able to use the entire product and replace it. It's driving me crazy. Last fall I bought a package of Pledge Stainless Steel wipes for my kitchen appliances. I have tried a number of stainless cleaning products, and those were by far my favorite. Quick, easy, cleaned up perfectly. Love them (love the whole wipes movement in general...so much better than hauling around a bottle of 409 and a roll of paper towels). Went back to Target to buy them again when I ran out...and they didn't have them. Assuming this was just another crappy Target is out of something situation, I tried another Target. No luck. Pledge doesn't make them anymore. (So no, this cannot be blamed on Target.) So I ended up buying some other stainless wipes that I hate, but whatever.

And then last weekend I used up my last Pledge "Clean and Dust" wipe, which I also found to be kind of fabulous. Went to Target to get more...and they didn't have any. This time I didn't even attempt to find them at another Target, I just assumed Pledge had discontinued them. So instead I purchased the new Pledge "Multi-Surface" wipes. This time I bought two packs, just in case they decided to discontinued those as well.

However, upon visiting the Pledge website, I discovered that the Clean and Dust wipes are still available. So this can be entirely blamed on Super Target being out of yet another product I need. (I knew there would be a connection!)

And now that I've gotten all this written down, I'm not sure I have a point. So I'll wrap things up with a quick summary:

Super Target sucks, Pledge kind of sucks, I really miss those stainless wipes, and I am ranting about cleaning products so I maybe need to find a hobby.

Well, I used to have standards.

Dear maternity designers,

Why do you hate the pregnant women of the world?

I'm serious. What did we ever do to you? Did a pregnant woman push you down some stairs? Yell at you in a hormonal rage? Did your mother force you to listen to Rush Limbaugh in utero?

Whatever happened, it must have been awful. Scarring, even. Because I can think of no other reason for you to design such hideous and ill-fitting maternity wear. It's pretty clear you're out for revenge.

I'm a girly-girl. I like clothes. A lot. And I am very particular about them. This is not to say I have an amazing wardrobe — I've certainly made my share of unfortunate purchases. However, I have standards. Standards which should be adhered to, even when sporting a stomach the size of a watermelon.

While my standards extend to most everything (For example, sweaters should always be fitted and hit mid-hip. There is nothing worse than a short, boxy sweater.), they are most important when it comes to jeans.

Jeans need to be cute, comfortable, versatile, and long enough to wear with heels. They have to be at least 95% cotton. Jeans with too much stretch hug all the wrong places, and make you look like a trashy teenage girl. They also become misshapen after about 20 minutes of wear. A perfect pair of jeans is dark wash, with a straight or slightly flared leg, and a trouser-y look to them. They can be dressed up for work or dressed down for play.

Unfortunately, jeans like this do not exist in maternity wear.

Okay, that's not entirely true. I could buy a pair of designer maternity jeans for $150-$250. But that's not going to happen. I'm not spending tons of money on a pair of jeans I can only wear for six months. I would need some type of written guarantee that the style would still be appropriate years from now when I decide to have another child — or that they can be easily converted into regular jeans post-delivery. And even then, I'd still be hesitant to spend that kind of money on pants. I did that once, on a pair of 7 for all Mankind jeans, and almost immediately gained weight and couldn't wear them anymore. I considered that a very important, very expensive shopping lesson. (It could also be considered a very important eating less and exercising more lesson, but let's not get technical.)

I am finally to the point where regular pants no longer fit (I've been walking around the office with my zipper down, totally professional-like), so I dragged myself to the Mall of America on Monday night. I figured the MOA was my best shot at finding jeans — especially since i have the added bonus of needing long length.

Nope.

The Gap and Old Navy don't carry long lengths in their store. You can order them online (which I tried to do from the Gap - but ended up with a pair that was too big and a pair that fit but was mislabeled "long" when it should have been "ankle"). So I ventured over to Motherhood Maternity, the store my friend Jo calls "the weird store." And she's right, it's totally weird. Kind of like a cross between Walmart and JC Penney. Crowded, unorganized...just bizarre. And of course they don't carry long lengths in the store either. The sales girl said they carry them online, but they must be sold out, because I can't find them.

I ended up trying on jeans there despite the length issue, because short pants are better than unbuttoned pants. And I found two pairs that work. I use the word "work" loosely, because they are stretchy, not particularly attractive, and I can't wear heels with them. But the stomach (secret fit belly, which came highly recommended by my girlfriends) is big and stretchy and soooo comfortable. And at some point, comfort and the ability to keep your underwear hidden from coworkers becomes more important than personal standards.

Which is probably what those bitter maternity designers are betting on. They think we're so desperate for pants we'll take any ugly old thing they're selling.

They are mostly right.

However, no amount of desperation could have convinced me to purchase the Liz Lange for Target jeans I tried on last night. They looked normal on the rack, but to my surprise and dismay, they were skinny jeans.

Skinny jeans with a pregnant belly? You have got to be kidding me, Liz. I don't care what horrific thing happened to you at the hands of a pregnant woman. You probably deserved it, given those terrifying pants.

A new era.

No, this is not about Obama's win on Tuesday night.

It's about flying. And how I have long despised Northwest Airlines.

The people who work for Northwest are unhappy. The people flying on Northwest are unhappy.

It is a generally unhappy experience for everyone involved.

Unfortunately, it is essentially the only experience available to those of us living in Minneapolis. Despite having a truly great hometown airline, Sun Country (which is now in trouble, thanks to local businessman/sleazeball Tom Petters), Northwest has the corner on air travel to and from Minneapolis.

Of course it's not the only airline you can choose to fly, but the others — American, United, Continental — are always significantly more expensive. Northwest is our hub, and therefore the primary source of escape for Minnesotans.

Which, to put it bluntly, sucks.

Having traveled back and forth to Midway about a million times since I moved here 10 years ago, I am a seasoned NWA traveler. While the flights were never pleasant (one time I received a cup of warm water in a container just like those little ice cream sundae cups you used to get as a kid — a tiny plastic cup with a paper lid you pull off by a tab!), they were affordable. Until this year, I'd never spent more than $175 for a flight from Minneapolis to Chicago. And I would have considered $175 to be on the expensive side. Heck, when my dad first moved to Minnesota and had to fly back and forth on weekends to see us in IL, he got tickets for $99.

Minneapolis to Chicago is a 90-minute, 400 mile flight. There is no reason for it to cost more than $175. Which I know isn't that much, but Nate and I have flown to MEXICO for $160 round trip. Yes, that was a one-off...but still. It happened! And it doesn't seem fair to pay just as much to travel a significantly shorter distance.

So, imagine my delight when AirTran entered the Minnesota travel market. AirTran, a discount airline based in Atlanta, offered travelers incredibly inexpensive flights, great flight times, and friendly service (although my parents were actually removed from a flight coming to Minneapolis after an AirTran ticket agent snapped at my mom and she called him out on his behavior. Luckily the Chicago police only detained them for a short period of time and they made it on their scheduled flight. Mom, if you are reading this, I'm sorry — you will never live this down. You got kicked off a plane!).

I loved flying AirTran. And they kept Northwest's rates competitive. Which didn't really matter to me, because I would never choose Northwest over AirTran. Even if the NWA flight was a teensy bit cheaper, I would always book with AirTran. Who wouldn't choose comfort and friendliness over squished seating and cranky flight attendants?

Alas, my happily-ever-after with AirTran was not meant to be. For some reason, the airline dismissed all flights between Minneapolis and Chicago earlier this year.

So where did that leave me? Purchasing a $350 plane ticket on Northwest one weekend (which my mom and sister kindly split with me), and driving back and forth at nearly $4.00 a gallon multiple times throughout the summer and fall.

Awesome.

Earlier this week, I heard that Northwest was offering discounted fares on holiday travel, so I got all excited and searched for flights around Christmas...only to be sorely disappointed. Last I checked, $340 is not a discounted fare.

Luckily, help is on the way in the form of another discount carrier. Southwest Airlines recently announced that they will begin service between Minneapolis and Midway in March. This makes me happy for many reasons, but one of them is that my dad has miles. Which means regular visits from my parents...or possibly regular visits to my parents, paid for by my Dad (this may be wishful thinking, but we'll see).

Additionally, Southwest provided their fares to and from Chicago — $69 each way! Which, according to my expert calculations (using a calculator, of course), adds up to $138. A whopping TWO HUNDRED dollars cheaper than stupid Northwest is charging right now.

Northwest will, of course, match Southwest's fares on this route. Which I'm sure doesn't mean they've been screwing us over for the past few months. No, I'm guessing there will be a magical drop in expenses related to this route come March, and they will lower their prices because it's the right thing to do for their beloved customers, and not because Southwest forced them to do it.

I politely request that Northwest take its little ice cream cup of water and shove it.

Yay for Southwest!