1. Oh the Places You’ll Go, Pending Herd Immunity

2. Green Eggs and Ham and Other Instacart Disasters

3. The Very Hungry Caterpillar Is Hoarding Again

4. The Cat in the Hazmat

5. Little Red Riding Hood, I Swear to God DO NOT Visit Grandma Right Now

6. Frog and Toad, Alone Together and Thriving

7. The Berenstain Bears Hate Homeschool

8. Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day He Thought He Had Coronavirus

9. Where the Wild Things Are: At Home, Silly

10. Upon Further Consideration, I Do Not Want My Hat Back

11. Winnie the Pooh, Wash Your Honey-Caked Paws, You Filthy, Sloppy Bear

12. Charlie and the Hand Sanitizer Factory

13. Go, Dog. Go! Get the Hell Away from Me.

14. Don’t You Dare Hop on Pop

15. Curious George…Just Stop. We Can’t.


It’s been eight months since we left San Francisco and moved into our dreamy mid-century home on Milwaukee’s North Shore. We’ve been settling in and waiting ever so %@$&* patiently for spring. It went from 70 and sunny last week to 32 and blizzard-y yesterday. This is why Sconnies love to talk weather. (And Packers, but I don’t care about football.)

Our house was built in 1954 by architect couple Willis and Lillian Leenhouts. Lillian was Wisconsin’s first licensed female architect. I recently met their daughter Robin, who lives in the Leenhouts home she grew up in and, by the…


After 15 years in New York and San Francisco (5 in Manhattan, 3 in Brooklyn, 7 in San Francisco), we’re moving to my hometown of Milwaukee. Sconnie, come get your girl!

As wonderful as San Francisco is, my love affair is waning now that we have two kids (hi, baby Liam). The cost of housing, the gamble of public schools, the parking, the 23 steps up to the front door, the crackhead who damn near dropped a needle in our stroller. It’s a lot.

Last year, we came across a gorgeous mid-century modern home for sale in Fox Point, a…


Hotel Hoppers of the Fog is a series that explores San Francisco’s hotel bars and eateries. This debuting segment looks at the Tonga Room.

The gals and I put on our finest tiki dresses and headed to Tonga Room & Hurricane Bar in the historic Fairmont hotel. This beauty sits atop Nob Hill at Mason and California Streets. I had been meaning to check it out for ages and finally made it a priority — and a good excuse to launch a club of hotel hopping socialites.

The Fairmont hotel’s Tonga Room.

The Tonga Room did not disappoint. We walked into a lush environment of…


Elliot, then eight months, had been in daycare for all of two months. Brian and I were under the impression our sweet baby was thriving. So it came as quite a blow when we learned the opposite. We were told he was overstimulated…stressed…pooping his pants. And that we should find other childcare arrangements. Permanently. I was blindsided by the news and shattered upon learning he was struggling.

Like any mom inclined to perfectionism, I blamed myself. Leaving Elliot in somebody else’s care was hard enough. When I realized he was far from flourishing, the ensuing anxiety was a bullet to…


Perfection & Pear Skillet Cakes

I measured the flour and spices. I overshot the cinnamon. Hurry, Jecca. Up next, coring and slicing the pears. Faster. I sprinkled brown sugar into a cast iron pan full of melted butter. If this pear skillet cake was going to have a fighting chance, I needed to prep it and get it into the oven before baby Elliot awoke from his morning nap. And that, I did. Success!

Or so I thought.

After about twenty minutes, the scent wafting from the oven went from heavenly, buttery cinnamon sugar to something BURNING. I opened the…


Rest when he rests, everyone says. But I can’t seem to quiet my mind. I feel overwhelmed with love for our newborn. Guilty for ignoring Lemmy, our Italian Greyhound. Anxious to catch up on emails and laundry and life.

And sometimes I just like to stare at my baby. That face! Those hands! How his arms dance in his sleep, conducting a silent orchestra!

My son Elliot is just a handful of weeks old. All things considered, he’s a good little sleeper. If only I could say the same for myself. …

Jessica Berta

Milwaukee-based writer surviving the chaos with my husband, two sons, dog, and a dog-eared copy of Moby Dick.

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