Girl Detective

Three more things, which I feel are distinct enough to merit their own postscript, rather than me cramming them retroactively into yesterday’s post on Stephen King and Fieldwork.

One: M., who blogs at Mental Multivitamin, is also a fan of Entertainment Weekly. She is erudite, but not elitist. She, too, liked the essay by King.

Two: I forgot one of the reasons I was so attracted to Gilead when I first saw it in hardcover. Not only was it physically beautiful to look at, but it also felt good in the hand. It was a good size and weight; its slight heft bespoke substance, not the overwhelming weight of pretension. And the cover was textured, so the weathered pastels felt as good as they looked.

Three: one more thing urged me to buy and read Gilead, but I felt it was too long to add to yesterday’s already long post. My writing instructor told this story, which I hope is true, of an editor at Farrar, Straus, Giroux who appeared at the door of another editor, holding an unremarkable box in his hand.

“Guess what I’m holding?” editor #1 asked, holding the box aloft.

He paused dramatically; he knew editor #2 had no idea.

He continued, his voice reverent and excited. “The manuscript for Marilynne Robinson’s second novel.”

How could I not want to read the book that inspired such a reaction?

I am an unapologetic reader of Entertainment Weekly. For all the swearing off of magazines I’ve done, there are a few that rise above the crowd to earn my attention. EW is one of those. I find it smart, funny, and a good, quick review of many things important to me: books, movies, tv and music. Sneer if you must, but in this case I’m no snob. I like EW because it embraces popular culture, though whether it’s high, medium or low is anyone’s call.

Stephen King is a columnist for EW. I haven’t read a King novel in many years, but I enjoy his “The Pop of King” and his sense of humor. In April 6, 2007’s “How to Bury a Book,” he accuses publisher Farrar, Straus and Giroux of dropping the ball with its treatment of the new novel Fieldwork by Mischa Berlinski. King takes issue with the cover and the title. He feels they tell nothing about, and therefore don’t sell, the book. King picked Fieldwork up on impulse, in spite of the cover and title, and was pleasantly surprised. He says that FSG has burdened the book with a smeary image and vague title because they’re afraid to market a literary novel overtly:

Hey, guys, why not put the heroine on the jacket….why not actually sell this baby a little?

I found it interesting that King also took issue with the cover and title of Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead, also from FSG, because I clearly remember the first time I saw that book in a store. I had to sternly restrain myself from buying Gilead in hardcover. Oh, how I wanted that book. The cover was a lovely wash of bleached-out color. It looked like the door of an old church. That plus the title told me it would be a book about religion and spirituality. I didn’t buy the book, because I managed to adhere to whatever “if I’m not about to read it next I can’t buy it, and I certainly can’t buy it in hardcover because by the time I read it, not only will it be out in paperback, it will probably have gone through a trade paperback printing into a mass market printing and I’ll have spent $25+ on a book that’s harder to read because of its lack of portability, and I’ll long for the lighter weight, and smaller pocketbook dent, of a paperback” vow I had taken at the time. I continued to visit that hardcover on subsequent bookstore trips, even after I borrowed Gilead from the library. I bought it as soon as it came out in trade paperback.

I went to amazon.com to check out Fieldwork after I read King’s column. Based on the description of the book, the cover and King’s endorsement, I would get this book, in spite of the mixed editorial reviews at amazon. (I don’t take the editorial reviews as gospel, and I pretty much ignore the personal reviews–too little signal to noise. But the ed. reviews usually point me in the right direction: check it out/meh/avoid.) I might not buy Fieldwork in hardcover (see para. above). But I would certainly reserve it from the library, which notifies them that the book is in demand, and encourages them to purchase more copies. The smudgey cover and title, along with the book description, point to a messy tale about anthropologists. The image and title both appeal to me, and make sense.

I find King’s complaints interesting. He may have a point that publishers are afraid to market literary fiction. Yet his argument sounds to me like he’s taking his opinion–that the cover and title should be more obvious in order to better sell the book–and universalizing it. Given that King is mostly a writer in the horror genre, and genre books tend to have more representative and less impressionistic covers and titles, I think he has a bias for what he likes that may not be as true for “ordinary readers,” as he believes.

Let me be clear. He is Stephen Freakin’ King, the bestselling author, many of whose books I’ve read and bought over the years. I am merely the author of this little weblog, and mostly unpublished. His opinion counts for more than mine. But since I consider myself one of the “ordinary readers” whom he validates, I wanted to voice my difference of opinion.

In the end, it feels unfair to quibble with King. He’s using the considerable power of his good opinion to support Fieldwork. In fact, his closing words are so good they should be repeated:

Under the drab title and drab cover, there’s a story that cooks like a mother. It’s called Fieldwork.

Because I haven’t been able to get it, this week. Or if I have, then it was quickly undone the next day: eeny, meeny, miny, moe, bad day, good day, bad day, whoa.

Mrs. Large took a tray from the cupboard. She set it with a teapot, a milk jug, her favorite cup and saucer, a plate of marmalade toast and a leftover cake from yesterday. She stuffed the morning paper into her pocket and sneaked off toward the door.

“Where are you going with that tray, Mom?” asked Laura.

“To the bathroom,” said Mrs. Large.

“Why?” asked the other two children.

“Because I want five minutes’ peace from all of you,” said Mrs. Large. “That’s why.”

This morning I had Drake set the kitchen timer for five minutes. Twice. Neither time did we make it to zero without the boys both screaming. Drake and I both love this book because it is funny and true about the push/pull between kids and moms. Consider this as a Mother’s Day gift for the tired moms you know.

I got this book at Barnes and Noble in the paperback section. I originally saw it recommended at a book blog, though I can’t find the link. (Book Moot, was it you?) I love the paperback children’s book section. I can splurge and not feel guilty for spending $15+ on a book that Drake is just as likely to throw as he is to “read”.

My husband G. Grod and I went out Saturday night, and a babysitter stayed with the boys. Since we often find dinner AND a movie rushed and stressful, we opted for just dinner, since life lately has been so busy and loud that we would welcome the chance to talk. We went to Midori’s Floating World, which is a lovely oasis of a Japanese restaurant in South Minneapolis. I go there when I’m feeling depleted; its menu is full of restorative gems. I drank the genmaicha green tea from their extensive tea menu, then I had the tempura rice balls, the green forest salad with kombu onigiri (sea vegetable rice ball), and green-tea over rice garnished with emerald flakes of nori. G. had a few nigiri rolls, the tempura California roll, and udon noodles with fried tofu.

After dinner we were well and truly full. Since we needed a little time before dessert, we browsed for watches at Uptown’s Lava Lounge, which is a way-more-hip store than either of us pretends to. But they do carry some fun watches. G. Grod liked this Vestal, the Nixon Graduate with blue face and black band, and the Nixon Banks with orange face. I liked the orange Chalet, and the girlishly impractical crystal Elle, which worked better worn a little large on my wrist.

We stopped next at Crema Cafe, home to Sonny’s ice cream. G. Grod had their signature flavor, Crema, which is espresso infused cream. After sampling the citrus/chili/kaffir lime sorbet, I went with the chocolate fudge ice cream; its slightly dry texture highlighted a good punch of chocolate.

Home again, we stayed up late to watch three episodes from the previous Thursday’s Toby-hosted, HR-nightmares Office marathon. I love the Office. It makes me laugh, though sometimes simulataneously while cringing.

It was a lovely night, but it felt a bit like payback when both boys woke at 4:30 a.m. demanding alternating attention, so each got a short nap later that morning, but neither G. Grod nor I did. We were very grouchy on Sunday.

A nurse in my outpatient therapy program recommends a prenatal vitamin without iron for almost everyone–male, or female, expecting, nursing, or not.

She also noted that it’s best for a patient to pick up her own meds from the pharmacy, since this is a good opportunity to ask questions of the pharmacist. Since our family often does tag team trips to Target, this was a good reminder.

Speaking of defective products, don’t even get me started on baby monitors. I swear, they’re programmed to self destruct after ninety days. More links and vitriol when time allows.

Because life with ongoing post-partum depression that isn’t responding to treatment isn’t hard enough. Ha! My current bugaboo is things that break. Because not only were they a waste of time and effort, but they either need to be thrown away, or sent back to the manufacturer so that someone can be held accountable for the shoddy work. I should probably just throw these away, but they represent so much money, so much hope for a product that would work, that I can’t quite bear to just toss them.

Evenflo Top of Stair baby gate. Arrived broken from Target.com. Returned.

Summer Top of Stair baby gate. Purchased at Target. Broke within days of installation. Worse, the pieces that broke off were about exactly the size of baby windpipe–shoddy construction AND a choking hazard! Thanks, Target! Thanks, Summer! Returned, but I don’t think I’ve finished spilling bile on this one yet.

Kitchenart adjust a cup measuring set. Inner plunger broke apart. Why is it multiple pieces? Why not just one? Never found a use for the spoons.

Oxo cheese slicer #1. G. Grod threw away before I could rescue it from the trash.

Oxo cheese slicer #2, which I was excited to see came with a replacement wire. Guess what? It wasn’t the wire that broke. Grr.

Kitchenaid cheese slicer. Huge and unwieldy, and still couldn’t slice off the rind of my Dante 6-month sheep’s cheese.

Nike watch. Every time I pushed the upper right button, I also hit the lower left. Bad design, then the strap separated and couldn’t even be contained with duct tape.

Seiko watch. Can’t stay working. A battery works for a few weeks, then caput. I loved this watch.

I’m sure there are more broken items littering our home, waiting to be sent to their maker with a vitriolic letter from me. I’ve got to get these out of here. They’re wrecking the feng shui, and I’m going to get an ulcer from all this internal bile. More links to come when I finish complaining about these shoddy products online.

At our lovely dinner last weekend, my husband G. Grod and I opted for the 5-course, rather than the 7-course tasting menu. The cheese entry in the 7-course menu featured Brillat-Savarin cheese. Earlier that day, I’d intercepted R., the cheese man at our grocery cooperative, as he put out freshly cut wedges of Brillat Savarin. I bought some medjool dates to go with the cheese, so thought the extra course at the restaurant would be redundant. Yes, I may spend too much on cheese. But it’s really good cheese.

One recent night the kids were in bed, and there were any number of things I should have done: resting, reading, writing, etc. Yet what I really wanted was to go to a bookstore. And when I tried to talk myself out of it (don’t need to, don’t want to buy books, what about the new book vow, etc.) I realized that I didn’t want to go book shopping; I wanted to browse.

Aimless browsing (aimless anything, really) is one of the casualties of this parent’s life. Trips to Target, the grocery store, the library, or anywhere else, are constrained by my kids’ short attention spans and my often depleted reserves of patience. But to browse? To wander hither and yon, with nothing to lead me on but my own whims? I went out directly.

With just over an hour till closing time, I browsed fiercely. I looked at all the Hemingway titles, trying (vainly) to figure out which collection of stories I read in college (turns out it was In Our Time.) I checked out the editions of To Kill a Mockingbird, since I’ll want a new one before I re-read it, and I don’t like the photo-cover TPB they sell at Target. I scanned the new-release tables, with their alluring covers and blurbs, but I was immune to their siren calls. Then I spent a good long time in the kids section going through the maddeningly subdivided board-book section. (Alphabetically by author! What’s so hard about that? I don’t need to look through Disney/Basics/Things That Go/Colors/etc.) I found so many gems in the paperback picture-book section that I had to take home a few. I Stink and Farmer Duck came home with me, but Mr. Gumpy’s Outing, It’s My Birthday, and Fables all went back to the shelf, amid much regretful sighing. I went to the register at the fifteen-minutes-to-closing announcent, and got a dollar off the price of one of the books because it was banged up, and because I asked. So yes, I did buy some books. But I didn’t go book shopping. I went book looking. And that was much more rewarding.

How thrilled was I to find this at my grocery coop today? It’s local; it’s delicious. And now it’s easy to buy. I have thus far managed not to eat it straight, with a spoon. I don’t think I’ll be able to resist much longer.

So far, my 3yo son Drake enjoys preschool. I appreciate that he’s meeting other kids and making cute crafts. But I exclaimed in excitement when I picked him up last week. Book club order forms! While I’ve enacted draconian cutbacks in book purchases for me and the husband, I am beside myself with excitement as I page through the options. I am overcome by nostalgia for one of the few things I remember fondly about school–these book order forms.

So many books! So cheap! How will I decide?

Our parenting class instructor says it’s best to leave junk food in the store. My favorite baby book, Baby 411, advises that parents foster healthy eating habits by eschewing the four Cs: cookies, candy, chips, and cola. I saw this when I flipped through the book the other week, and kept it in mind during last week’s grocery trip, and didn’t buy any of those items. That week, Drake may not have known what he was missing, but I did, and it made me cranky.

The next grocery trip I bought a bottle of black cherry pop, a dark chocolate bar, a bag of Kettle chips, and a bag of chocolate Newman O’s. I’ve kept all but the chips out of 3yo Drake’s hands. While I agree that the ideal is to not to have them in the house, I’ve found my mood improves appreciably when I have access to an occasional treat.

Hard on the heels of my post about not buying books before I am able to read them, or even before I’ve read them, I bought a book last night that I haven’t read, and don’t intend to read soon. Jodi at I Will Dare wrote that Mary Gaitskill was doing a reading last night, so I grabbed her books that I own (Two Girls, Fat and Thin; Bad Behavior; Because They Wanted To) and the issue of Harper’s that had her essay on rape, which blew my mind when I read it, and tried but failed to lay my hands on my copy of her essay from Vogue on Little Women.

I had been so virtuous for so long, not buying or even putting Gaitskill’s new novel Veronica in my library queue, because I had not yet read her last story collection, Because They Wanted To. But sometime within the past year, I read an article that said she was one of a handful of talented writers who can barely make a living, and since I agree with the talented part, I thought I should put my money where my ethics were, and buy Veronica. So I did, directly contradicting nearly everything I wrote earlier this week, except for how good I am at rationalizing.

Gaitskill was a good reader, and seemed a little shy in front of the audience. Her writing was mesmerizing, and she had interesting things to say about how she wrote Veronica years ago when she had an emotional idea about the book, but wasn’t able to finish it till she had a more intellectual handle on it and could tackle the manuscript holistically. She has arresting white-blonde hair, and wore a pin-striped brown suit over boots that looked both fashionable, and sharp enough to poke a good-sized hole in someone’s shin. And her outfit was a good reflection of how she seemed: smart, talented, with an edge.

Related to yesterday’s post about book stockpiling is the thorny issue of book weeding. I am a fierce de-crapifier. We live in a small house, and clutter makes me anxious. My husband G. Grod, however, is a pack rat. He never wants to throw or give anything away. Recently he had an “I told you so” moment when I was making an 80s mix CD, and no longer owned several CDs of songs I wanted to include. I’d sold them off years ago to make room for new ones, and because I was certain I’d never want to listen to them again. Similarly, I recently bought a copy of Kate Atkinson’s Behind the Scenes at the Museum. I read it years ago for my dear former book group, and didn’t love it, and could not imagine reading it again. But when I read and loved Case Histories last year, I thought I’d like to read BtSatM again.

Getting rid of books/comics/music/movies is a tough call. Yes, it’s nice to clear out room, and not have it taking up space in the house or in my attention. And over the years, I’ve gotten rid of loads of things that I haven’t missed one jot. Yet there are those few instances, like with the 80s CDs, that were so annoying that I must admit my husband has a point. A book in hand can be a wonderful thing when the urge to re-read, or even just to flip through, strikes.

SFP at Pages Turned is auditioning a remedy for book stockpiling:

I can buy any book I want, but the catch is, I can’t buy it until I’m prepared to read it. No more stockpiling, no more bumping library books to the front of the queue since an owned book means a book I can ignore until I run out of material with due dates. No, if I buy a book now I should intend to read it immediately.

Like other readers, I’ve tried the “I can only buy what I’ll read right away” method; it didn’t work. There are too many exceptions, and I’m too good at rationalizing. I’ll find something rare at a used bookstore, or be seduced by some sort of incentive, like a coupon, percent off, or BOGO (buy one, get one). I worked in marketing; incentives aren’t fabulous deals. They’re lures to get me in the store (be it real or virtual) so I spend money I otherwise might not.

The only cure for stockpiling I’ve found is to avoid shopping. If I don’t shop, I don’t buy. Lest this sound like I’ve got my act together, even this doesn’t work. I’ve cut back (not out) book purchases, and I’m better about reading purchases right away. But I’m still reading more new purchases than old purchases. And I’ve read about the same number of old purchases as library books, even though I planned otherwise. This summer I took all books off my library queue and was able to complete my summer reading challenge. Once I did that, though, I put several requests in at the library, so I’m right back to bad habits.

My current plan for the library is not to add any book requests until I’ve read more of the older books on my shelf. When I read about a book that sounds good, I send myself an email, then store it in a folder of recommendations for some potential mythical lull in my reading future. The good thing about electronic lists is that they don’t accumulate in drifts around the house and in my purse, wallet, or diaper bag.

My current plan to avoid stockpiling is to buy a book only after I’ve read it, loved it, and am about to read it again, or urge it on my husband. This has resulted in a few purchases this year already (King Dork and Black Swan Green), but overall, I’m buying far fewer books than previously.

I think book stockpiling is like any other bad habit. Different things work for different people, or even at different times for the same person. Like any bad habit, it’s not able to be undone in a day. Recovery is a process, not an event, and is measured by progress, not perfection. While there are many worse habits out there, book stockpiling isn’t harmless. I learned a few things with my summer reading list. I could manage without books on reserve at the library. I could stick to a book plan if I put my mind to it. But a book plan, as opposed to a loose and changeable list, made reading less enjoyable. Once I acquired a book, by stockpiling or borrowing, it became an obligation, rather than something I wanted to read. For me, stockpiling books not only takes up space and is fiscally irresponsible, but it also takes some of the fun out of reading.

My husband and I went on a date last weekend to the new Midtown Global Market (MGM). Based on the City Pages article, we tried food from three different shops. We got a torta from Mannys, a tamale and liquado from La Loma, and a huarache from Los Ocampo. We got a Coke with real sugar from one of the grocers, as well as a can of chipotle chiles that I hadn’t been able to get when shopping at my regular place earlier in the day, and the cut of meat I needed for our next meal. We splurged on a container of Potion #9, a chocolate sauce made with local Hope butter. The woman who sold it to us confessed without guilt that she doesn’t bother putting it on ice cream; she eats it out of the container by the spoonful. We’ve served it over ice cream, but are so determined to get every last bit of chocolate sauce out of the bowl that there’s little to be heard over the furious clinking of spoons. (The bowls are not wide enough to lick, which is the only thing constraining us. So either I need to serve in a wider, shallower bowl, or get out a spatula next time. Such is the compelling nature of this chocolate sauce.)

Visiting the MGM, I was reminded fondly of the Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia. The MGM has great places both for cooked food and for foodstuffs. I left so full I could hardly move, wondering when we could next go back.

Once Drake turned two, I needed a diaper bag less and less. I enjoyed my return to a normal purse with one or two kid essentials tucked inside. With a new baby, though, came the need for a diaper bag once again. The chaos factor for babies is less about behavior, and more about physical realities. Babies need diapers, wipes, burp cloths, changes of clothes and distracting toys. Toddlers still need these things on an occasional basis, but not nearly as often or as immediately as do babies.

With Drake, G. Grod and I used a Timbuk2 messenger bag. After two years of diaper duty, it was the worse for wear. I debated what type of bag to get as a replacement. Another messenger? An actual diaper bag? A purse that was roomy enough to hold diaper-like essentials?

I came to similar conclusions as I did years ago. Actual diaper bags charged a premium for things like usefulness and fashion. They were very expensive because they were very specialized, with things like a built-in changing pad and insulated sections for bottles. See an example here. I found the special sections not very helpful. Either I could buy them cheaper and include them in any bag I wanted (the changing pad) or I never needed it (insulated section.) Plus, once you were done with babyhood, you’d be done with the bag.

I found opposite issues with subsituting a conventional purse for a diaper bag. See example here. Most bags were just not sturdy enough to stand up to the abuse that a diaper bag has to endure, and the fashionable ones were expensive enough to warrant more careful treatment.

So I returned to my middle ground of a messenger bag, though this time I opted for the more ergonomically correct backpack, since it distributes weight across both shoulders. It’s sturdy, it’s not ugly, it’s reasonably priced, and it will be useful once Guppy moves into toddlerhood when we can once again, and finally, give up the big bag. And I can always opt for using one of my existing purses in those rare instances in which I need a bag that’s fashionable and fabulous, rather than utilitarian.

The topic comes from Carnival of the Couture, a project of Manolo the Shoe-Blogger. Each week fashion-minded bloggers respond to new topics. This week is hosted by The Bargain Queen. I haven’t participated before, but this week’s question was so easy to answer that I had to respond:

What is your best-ever bargain? Where did you find it, how much was it and why is it your favourite?

My best ever bargain was my wedding gown. I found it among the regular dresses at a Filene’s Basement in St. David’s, PA. (Not THE Filene’s Basement in Boston, MA, but one of the TJ Maxx-ish outposts.) The Filene’s price tag read $200, but the original was still attached. The dress came from Holt Renfrew, a Canadian department store. The original price was $1195.

It was a beautiful dress of celadon silk taffeta, with an empire waist, and a long-sleeved illusion bodice embroidered with sequins and pearls. I had been looking for a slightly unconventional gown for some time, but couldn’t justify spending thousands of dollars on what I’d found in bridal shops. Also, most of the colored bridal gowns were blue, pink, or champagne. I’d never yet found green, which suits me because I’m a redhead.

I took the gown into the dressing room, tried it on, then went out to the three-way mirror. Another woman there looked on.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “But where would you wear it?”

“My wedding,” I smiled back, somewhat dazed.

As I removed the dress in the dressing room, I looked for the tag. The designer used his name and last initial. They were the same as those of my fiance.

I took the dress to the register. The clerk said they were running a promotion. She offered me a scratch card for the chance to win an additional percentage off. I scratched off 20%, so my $200 dress only cost $160, and there was no sales tax.

I sped home and called my parents, friends and sisters. “You’ll never believe this!” I crowed. “I found a beautiful, unique dress, the designer has the same name and last initial as my fiance, and it only cost $160!”

It was truly the best-ever bargain.

After I had my first child, I had to buy a bunch of new clothes because nothing fit. I was a size or two bigger, thicker in the waist, and larger in the chest due to nursing. Once I started exercising again, those post-partum clothes eventually became too big. But I saved them, figuring I’d need them again after Guppy was born.

Lo and behold, they were now too small. I am two or three sizes larger, with an even thicker waist. What to do? Revert to wearing maternity clothes? While I’ve done that a few times, some other things have worked.

Once I determine something doesn’t fit, I take it off the hanger, so I don’t try it and get depressed again when it doesn’t fit. Skirts with unstructured waists fit, since they can sit a bit higher than they used to. The only pants that fit have Lycra, and not even all those still work. The best tops are one that cover the waistband and don’t ride up.

I found a few inexpensive items at Old Navy and Target that should help until I can either buy for my new shape or exercise my way back toward my old stuff. (I’m not holding my breath for the latter.) I won’t win any fashion-forward awards, but I hope to avoid plumber’s butt and other behind-the-back, wince-inducing faux pas.

Old Navy Just Below Waist Jeans
Old Navy At Waist Jeans (online, but no longer in store)
Old Navy Tiny Fit Tees (tight but longer length)
Old Navy Long Layering Tank
Target Mossimo tank
Target Mossimo tee

Three years ago when I shopped for a single stroller I didn’t feel there was a lot of consumer information on which to base a purchase. Yet the dearth that there was (a scanty comparison by Consumer Reports, a decent comparison in Baby Bargains, and highly unreliable personal accounts online) came to seem a relative abundance when my husband and I began to research double strollers recently.

Most feedback favors the side by side instead of the inline style, both for maneuverability and so that both children can see. We first checked out the Combi Twin Savvy and the Maclaren Twin Traveller. Both seemed fine for light, mostly indoor use. I walk a lot, though, and one of the things I like about our neighborhood is that we’re within a mile of our grocery store and two libraries, so I need something that can go up and down curbs, over rough sidewalks, and through the snow. Neither the Combi nor the Maclaren looked up to this kind of travel, so we looked at jogging strollers instead.

The less expensive jogging strollers have a fixed front wheel. In order to change direction, you have to press down on the back wheels so the front one lifts up, then adjust the front. This would be fine if I were running in mostly a straight line.

Pivoting wheels on a double jogging stroller solve the maneuverability problem, but just about double the average price. While the Maclaren, Combi, and fixed-wheel models are priced between about $200 and $350, pivoting-front wheelers start at over $500. We found three models: the Bob Revolution Duallie, the Mountain Buggy Urban Double and the Phil and Ted Twin. Fortunately, we found a good local store, Baby Grand, that carried all three models so we could compare them in person, since information on the web was sometimes sketchy (Phil and Ted don’t even have info on the twin model on their website. Their E3 double is great in theory, and apparently the big thing in NYC, but we want Guppy to have a view other than that of Drake’s bum.)

The Bob has only a single front wheel, and is the least expensive at just over $500. The Mountain Buggy and the Phil and Ted have double front wheels, cost over $600, and are significantly (about 40 cm) shorter in length than the Bob. All three are comparable in width and fit through most doorways. The Bob has the best canopy coverage, and would not require anything additional for sunscreen. You could also access your kid through the back of the canopy, which could be very useful. Both the Mountain Buggy and the Phil and Ted have short, inadequate canopies that are most likely designed so that one also purchases the extended cover, at about $75, making them even more expensive. The Phil and Ted had a forward center of gravity, which made it harder to lift the front wheels than on the other two. We came very close to choosing the Bob, because of its price, its canopy and its overall function, but in the end went with the Mountain Buggy because the seats on the Bob don’t recline. The Bob is better for two children of the same age, or at least two older children, not one like our Guppy who’s only a few weeks old. The Bob also had a more detailed restraint. It was more a stroller for a true runner than for someone like me, who merely walks a lot in the city.

I’ve taken the Mountain Buggy out twice now, and it handles like a dream. Going up and down curbs is easy, and both boys enjoy the ride. We ordered a canopy extender rather than what Mountain Buggy offered, and while it annoys me to have to spend so much more when the Bob had such a great canopy included, I did appreciate that I could have Guppy sitting up, supported by a Snuzzler, or lying down when asleep, which I would not be able to do with the Bob.