a footnote in someone else's happiness

I shouldn’t have waited until Day 6 to say something to you, the two people I imagine might meander over here to read what I have to say from time to time. I owe you both an apology. 

That last post that was hanging around here since June 2020 for three-point-four years was "vagueBooking" at best. And the ensuing sustained silence may have insinuated that my brother was clawing his way through a serious medical swamp...from which he might not have emerged. 

He was. But he got out. 

I'm so sorry I didn't come back and tell you that he was ok. He is ok. 

That year—2020—was hell for a lot of people. And nobody who knew what was going on will ever be the same after having lived through it. Collective trauma and all that. 

For us, the stakes felt higher. Many people in my life took this approach: “Well we have to live our lives!” Or “sure but what’s the cost to our mental health?” It was especially surprising coming from the pastor who lived next door, but who knows what kind of stuff he was having to counsel people about.

Those are valid points! That said, all those folks had the luxury of assuming that Covid-19 would be a miserable experience, but they (and their loved ones) would likely come through it to the other side with their lives. Mental health is important, to be sure, but if your body doesn't make it, neither does your mind. 

We suspected that Covid would likely put my brother in the ground and didn’t want to take the chance, especially because my mom and I were his lifeline to the outside world. It felt as though every person I knew who was bitching about having to wear a mask didn’t actually give a shit about his life. Or what losing him might to do to mine, frankly. Eh, he has a pre-existing condition. What can you do? Those people are expendable, right? Certainly not worth being *uncomfortable* for more than a few months to try and protect. It's not like losing one of them could destroy a family or anything. And even if it would, that's somebody else's family and somebody else's problem. So all of us locked down harder than anyone else we knew.

Then we got smacked with something no one was ready for: That post I left you hanging on for three years? It had nothing to do with Covid. It was about a headache that turned out to be a brain bleed. 

The kid had to have a hole drilled into his skull so that the excess blood could be released and stop exerting pressure on his brain. Thank goodness it worked and he was ok.

We doubled down on our Covid-aversion measures. If we went anywhere at all it would be while re-breathing our own wet carbon dioxide, the mask digging into our cheeks and cutting into the backs of our ears. The alternative…the sheer idea of dropping the ball and letting something happen to him…just the possibility kept me up at night, even more so after this horrible virus sent my mother’s beloved sister--her person--to heaven far too early. And these kids? These amazing little imps were the only ones in their classes who stayed home then wore masks all day long for nearly THREE school years.   

Despite everything we did, in fall 2021 my brother stepped out to celebrate a close friend’s Very Important Day and BAM, it happened. He got Covid. And we had been right. It very nearly did kill him. 

I’m the one who had to call 911. To sit next to him for days in the overflowing ER when they couldn’t get a bed on a unit and bemoan the fact that the stubborn goat never signed a Power of Attorney so I couldn’t get him transferred to the hospital that actually knew five or three things about his complex medical history--and they were holding a bed for the guy. I had to relay all sorts of tenuous and terrifying information to my parents, going out of their minds at home; and to my husband, managing a fulltime job and two very small children (one of whom was still in diapers) at our house. Once my brother got a bed, my mother was at his side for the worst of it. And it was very bad. He was on the brink. The pandemic wasn’t anywhere near over for us. If I'm being very honest? It may never be over for us.

Somehow, he got through it. I’d be lying if I said he was ever going to be the same again (another myth about Covid—not everyone recovers 100%). I wish I could tell you some of the truly scary bits. But my brother doesn’t want me telling people his business. I’ve probably already said too much.

This is where I struggle: Yes. This happened to my brother, not me. His very supportive college roommates who live in different states, his revered colleagues and close high school buddies—who most decidedly are NOT receiving an average of 12 phone calls at any time of the day or night just to say whatcha doin' NOR are they dropping their spouses, children, work, obligations at a moment’s notice to sprint out the door because the call is coming from an emergency room—they are quick and loud to affirm: Yes! It’s HIS life. It’s HIS story! And if my brother doesn’t want anyone to know his business, then I need to respect that and keep my damn mouth shut.

I get it. I really do. He can't control anything about his health. So he keeps an iron fist around the information.

But…how am I supposed to continue being his emotional support animal on a need-to-know/need-to-tell basis? How am I supposed to jump off a conference call to answer the phone only to discover he’s bored or saw a funny meme or has a taste for Taco Bell or is craving Lemon Lime-flavored New York Seltzer brand soda we used to drink in the '90s that is no longer sold here or has a knot in his back or thinks he may be dying and doesn’t want to die or is tired of fighting and needs a pep talk…How am I supposed to manage that, while also trying to explain to everyone else in my life who has expectations of me that no, I'm not that lazy or scatterbrained, I'm just really tired and that pesky attention deficit disorder is probably to blame; no, melatonin does not work with my anxiety; I HAVE tried to meal plan--believe me--it fails when you can't follow through this evening, let alone know what might happen by the end of the week; I try to make sure the fridge is stocked and the undies are clean and the library books get returned and the kids' homework gets done and birthday party gifts are bought and the appointments are scheduled so at least my husband doesn't have to worry about those things, too...and I'm constantly failing...There's dishes in the sink and clutter piled on every flat surface in this house. How am I supposed to make anyone outside these walls understand when it's not my story to tell? This is not a week or a season. This is my actual life. And nobody gets it.

So I didn’t post at all. Because it isn't about me. It never has been.

What I can say is that I haven’t known any different since I was four years old. The guillotine that he could be snatched away has been over our heads since 1982, ready to drop with no notice. Every goodbye, every opportunity to give him something he wanted, every disagreement carried a silent “but what if this was the last…? Will you be able to live with yourself if THIS was the last…? It was hard for a kid to understand. I did grasp the severity of the situation, so I tried not to make a fuss. And especially now that I’m a parent myself, I don’t blame my folks for a single decision they made; they did and continue to do their very best, an amazing job considering what they have. Which is uncertainty and prayer.

I’m 45 years old. I have two exponentially rapidly growing small children who know that sometimes Mommy is gone for a long time without completely understanding why. This might go on for another decade and then I’ll have exponentially rapidly maturing teenagers who will leave this house and hopefully remember to call me on my birthday. Or it could all be over tomorrow. Then my exponentially rapidly growing kids might not look up from their devices long enough to see that I’m tangled up and lost in my guilt about what I could have done. They're accustomed to me going missing for stretches at a time. 

My friends understand that I sometimes can’t attend events because I need to be elsewhere. They agree, it isn't my story to tell. I really should be more respectful of my brother's privacy, for goodness' sakes, look at all he's going through. The ones close enough to see my actual life know that mentioning it to him will result in unfortunate repercussions for me. Those friends hear more of the story. And H. That man. He is the only one who understands what it feels like to try and, how does he put it? Sprint a marathon. And he's the one left holding the bag and keeping this chaotic ship afloat, solo, more times than is fair. Sure, he had an idea of what he was signing up for. By no means did that make it any easier.

Three years. I should have come back and told both of you dear readers that he was ok. Forgive me. Blame it on my ADD. For what it's worth, there were way too many details that needed to be redacted.

#NaBloPoMo

“Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet” Fall Out Boy 

when it hasn't been your day, your week, your month or even your year

Highcon, Ri and C are invited and will likely attend the episode of Friends this weekend called "The one where Chandler Settles Down." Considering I was the Monica Geller at her most relentless to his avoidant Ms. Chanandler Bong (RIP Matthew Perry) for about 18 months two decades ago, I am certainly not on the guest list. But I do hope that Chandler’s new wife makes him happy. 

I've made this Friends reference in the past, and I kept it breezy, but this NaBloPoMo is all about the circleback with context, so I will go ahead and stretch this simile beyond its limits. What the hell, it's been 19 years (to the day, eerily) since we broke up.

Let's imagine that:

• Chandler and Monica are humans instead of sitcom puppets at the mercy of ratings and writers. 
• After a decade of membership in a tight-knit friend group and a benign personal connection, they bumped elbows one afternoon when they were both single and found it created an electric spark worth investigating.
• Mapping out the implications of a potential breakup and swearing upon a swing set that they would not let things get weird, they hesitatingly gave it a shot.
• The Friends eventually found out and were happy! One was especially over the moon at the idea that this best friend and that best friend were now BESTEST best friends, and announced to every patron of Side Tracks that he'd known it all along.
• They were deliriously happy until Chandler began acting kinda shady, ain't callin' her baby, why the sudden change...this trifling behavior seemed to crop up whenever Janice's laugh could be heard in the background.
• Monica's attention to detail made her suspicious, especially when stories didn't add up. This grilling made Chandler more avoidant. Which made Monica double down and catch more inconsistencies, which made her panic. 
• At Central Perk, Monica crossed her arms and glowered in an armchair, but Chandler was all jokes. He turned to the others, raised his eyebrow and circled a finger around his ear. "Could she BE more paranoid?" Everyone laughed, even Gunther.
• Monica had enough and they broke up.
• It was easier for the Friends to hang out with Chandler. He remained funny and normal. Monica cried a lot in her apartment and kept trying to get them to agree Chandler was at the very least being dishonorable and untrustworthy. If he's lying about hanging out with Janice, what else is he hiding? She was getting to be a real drag. Come on, it's Chandler. He would never! Get a grip, Monica.
• Then Monica kind of disappeared. She got an off-hours job in some dungeon in the city where she was up all night, worked all weekend and didn't see any friends at all. Supposedly she started one of those blog things.
• At the 20-year high school reunion over a decade later, Monica and Chandler had a nice chat about how he was really into the woman he was dating but she was angling for a ring and he wasn't about that life. They inquired about each other's families and Monica showed him photos of her children. 
• The group got together a handful of times but it was never the same. The Friends haven't all been in one room together since 2019, and even then they were sprinkled among 25 mutual friends and acquaintances at a going-away party. They exchanged pleasantries and raised a toast to old times.

That relationship very nearly turned me to ash. People who saw the mess that was me in the following months or caught a glimpse of the bitterness simmering under the surface for years afterward assumed I must've been so desperately in love with Chandler that I couldn't get over the heartbreak. Sure, being unable to make it work with him was a crushing disappointment. But it wasn’t just him that I lost. 

The fact that not a single one of them took my side and their refusal to acknowledge my hurt as anything beyond a crackpot theory—essentially gaslighting me into thinking I ruined the group by being extra? That's the blade that caused the festering wound.

When I was trying to explain the distinction (as recently as last year) one of them turned to me and said, "Cadiz. You have to understand. If it were ANYONE else, I would have so been in your corner, all the way. But it's Chandler! We love that guy! How could we possibly be mad at him?" 

Within a year of the breakup I had met and fallen in love with the man who would hold my hand throughout my failed attempt at “and that, my friend, is what they call closure” a few years later. I didn’t get it. What happened instead was me going full-scale Hysterical Monica on the whole group in actual Central Park. This man stayed by my side when there were two airports full of flights out of New York just a cab ride away. That is precisely when I realized I would marry H someday. Later, when asked about that bizarre confrontation, all he had to say was "Who, Chandler? I don't have a problem with the guy. Besides, he left the door open for me."

If my ex has managed to find someone as well-suited to him as I caught for myself, then he is a truly lucky fellow who deserves every happiness in the world.

#NaBloPoMo

"I'll Be There for You" The Rembrandts

i woke up in between a memory and a dream

When I started this little experiment, Ale was the only one who saw potential in what I was doing. And she joined me. Without her consistent support and comments (not to mention the off-blog running commentary between us*), none of this may have ever happened. But Ale has always been a visionary. Take this comment she made in March 2005 on my post about "Only You," a pretty bad movie that I loved anyway because Italy, truuue looove and (let's be honest) Robert Downey, Jr. (Keep in mind that at this time Ale was fluent in four languages and English was not the first one. She's likely fluent in a dozen by now.):

"wahahhaha, i'm was totaly laughing, my work people were looking at me funny. 

yep, i know that movie. I also to this day have problems with movies, pictures, posters...etc... dipicting eurpean seens. (yes, depressing topic for another day) I resigned to the fact that the only way I'll be able to handle "europe stuff" is if I am strongly connected to it where I MUST travel there more than on a quarterly basis. EX: marrying a european and bringing my childrenses to visit with their granmamas. or work... or having so much money that I must shop there every season... Until than, we cant talk, discuss, see it--- nothing.
one thing that's not clear, i like marissa tomei-- even when she is being annoying--?? you don't?"

Ale lived in New York in the early aughts. She worked for an international company and made a legitimate truuue looove connection with a colleague based in The Netherlands. She moved there. They got married, have two beautiful sons and she continues to forge her way toward world domination. If you read her comments on this blog (sadly, it looks like she's deleted hers), she told us all exactly how it was going to go down. And it did. 

*Apparently during the heyday of this blog, I spent most of my time with folks in other time zones.

#NaBloPoMo

"You Don't Know How it Feels" Tom Petty

whoooa, we're halfway there

Gone are the days when I have time to edit my thoughts into coherent bits--and since I have only recently discovered that most everyone else in this world has an inner monologue that basically tells them what to say and do, word for word before it comes out of their mouths *, and they don't spend 95% of their typing time hitting backspace to translate the four different emoji conversations happening over the background song (at the moment it's "I Like Me Better When I'm With You" by Lauv)--anyone who happens to still be reading this is stuck trying to figure out what I'm trying to say, as I edit the feelings and images in my mind into English.

It's coming up on Valentine's Day. Jon and I have declared that a "dead" holiday for us (perhaps after 13 years, a blog reveal about H and two children later, we might now be able to talk about how we almost broke up on that first one...some other time). My actual best February 14 ** was going to IKEA with one of my bffs and Prom Date, highcon, who gathered us together this past weekend to say adios to Chicago (again) as he officially moves back to New York (again) to be with his love, K. 

I rode the train in with JZ, a friend of mine from elementary school, who also ended up being great friends with highcon in junior high/middle school. The districting around here is wacky so JZ and I were split in jr. high and everyone was reunited together in high school, where I met highcon. I'll skip to the TL;DR: We all go waaay back.

So JZ and I are at this fancy restaurant an entire hour early. I send this text to highcon: 

"T-53 minutes. Highcon, do you know where your wallet is?

And your phone.

And your keys.

And your man?

We are here and already drinking."

His response, 46 minutes (or T-14 minutes until the private party was set to begin):

"Omg.

I lost my phone!!!!!

It's in an Uber and he's meeting us at [fancy restaurant].

My work one.

Kill me!

So, you called it"

Highcon has a history of these shenanigans. It is mind-blowing that someone who cannot keep track of mundane things such as cellphones, keys and wallets has somehow risen through the ranks to become a bigshot at an international company, literally making billion-dollar decisions on the regular. I'm not usually one to drop annoying hints like this, but he and his equally successful sweetheart have a house on Martha's Vineyard and travel the world for fun. But at the end of the day, he's still the same silly guy who'd procrastinate with me on English papers and talk smack about classmates until the wee hours of the morning on the phone in high school. 

I had already been feeling extremely nostalgic recently. I don't know if it's because I'm starting to really feel the wear and tear of 41 years on my body, or that caring for small children while trying to maintain a house, a marriage and a very demanding job that requires me to not quite ever be "logged out" is making me wonder what would have happened if I had taken any of the other options when I got to forks in the road. I regret nothing, but when you watch cheesy teen movies like "To All the Boys I've Loved Before" and read books about young people coming into their own and discovering love and life, and you celebrate one of your besties taking a great leap into the semi-unknown (his mom asked K if he was "ready to have highcon full time"), realizing that you're halfway done with this life is kind of like a sharp kick to the stomach. With a lot of Monday-morning quarterbacking. 

During the warm and jovial dinner, several of us got a text that a classmate (and good friends of one of the other people) had suddenly died of cancer, leaving behind a wife and a 15-month old. This, on top of the unexpected death of Kobe Bryant, who was revered in our house by the devoted Laker fans, the one-year anniversary of Ri's brother-in-law-to-be dying of a heart attack a month before his wedding to her sister, and the pre-sad anguish anchor I drag around every moment of every day about the possibility of losing my brother was too much to bear. I broke down. Maybe it was the alcohol.

JZ had a clearer head and got me up and out of there so we could catch the train home. I had to be at work at 6am Sunday, for a work go live--which was not a fun experience, but I'll have to write another post about how the job is going. I was so thankful to have that evening. Sixteen people came together to talk about why we love highcon, sharing stories digging up exactly the kind of dirt you have on someone with whom you rode the bus or helped figure out how to put contact lenses in. 

The morning after the party, when I was broke-brain as hell, I got about 3/4 of the way to work and realized I had left my computer at home and got there at 6:20a instead of 20 min early. Then I couldn't locate my cellphone for about 5 hours. I literally walked from the car, into the office, up the steps and to the Command Center to check in. I couldn't have left it at home because the directions were telling me just how late I was going to be and I was listening to Sarah Silverman tell Conan O'Brien about how he thwarted her plans to make out with him many years ago by telling her he was recently engaged. After THREE car searches, I located my phone. I texted highcon and JZ: 

"Dude, thank you (and K) for the lovely party I had so much fun, and sorry if I was obnoxious--I haven't been drinking in a LONG time!

In total karmic justice, this morning at 5am I forgot to put my laptop in the car and had to turn around halfway, and then couldn't find my damn phone for like five hours! It had slipped between the console and the passenger seat. I think this is payback for giving you crap yesterday."

His response:

"Bwahahahahah

See this is why we are friends

We are all functional hot messes"

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't know where all the time went. But talking about all that old stuff, which was SO IMPORTANT back then, and realizing that most of us can only even recall it in pieces so we have to be in the same space to argue and put it all together, makes me realize that this life is zooming. Just flying by. And I'm so thankful to have written some of it down. 

*subsequent posts on this dude's blog say that he has ADD, so there goes that theory (I am not officially diagnosed, but an ADD therapist said almost all the markers light up for me having ADHD or something of the sort).

** I pulled that post up on my phone to show K what a sweetheart highcon was for going to all the trouble of printing out a kids' coloring-book valentine to give me on the way to IKEA.

in front of the lens

Today was a gorgeous day. November 5 and it's 71 degrees in the Chicago area? Wow.

And what wonderful timing that my former colleague who shoots portraits as a side hustle was free to meet us in a forest preserve and capture the three of us with purpose for the first time since those photographers who sucker you into giving them all your money in the hospital when you're still delirious from baby-hormone-joy.

Because there's no time like the last minute, I spent most of the morning tearing through my closet for better clothes to wear than I had originally planned, taking badly angled photos and texting them to the world for advice. Then I raced to the store and bought four more things that didn't work out. Per pp, in her infinite fashion wisdom, I ended up going with an sweater and skirt I've had for years but had never thought to put together.

Ro was fantastic. She just wanted to run and run, kicking leaves and sliding like a base-stealer in the mud. She got to eat a sucker, too, which always makes for a red-letter day. Those gray tights had their moment in the autumn sun, but are possibly too far gone to ride again.

Later, she ran around even more at Kaiya's birthday party, where we all made tortellini under the instruction of her boyfriend, who happens to be a chef. Delicious! It wasn't that far off from making samosas, so I may have had a leg up on everyone else. He said I was ready to open my own pasta shop. Flattery, flattery.

It was really nice to see some of my oldest friends. Highcon is moving back to Chicago, and brought his main squeeze for us to meet. Ri and C's mini posse was running circles around the house with Ro. The wine was flowing. The salted-caramel-mousse cake was scrumptious. There was elderberry infused into the water and Cheerios ground into the carpet.

A lovely day, through and through.

we're hoping not to take any new members

This post isn't fun for the writer. And probably not the audience, either. Sorry. 

During my first pregnancy, I had a pregnancy buddy, who was just a few weeks behind me. We had planned all kinds of fun prenatal crave-binging, swim classes or yoga, and had done plenty of commiserating. Then my baby came at (what I know now was) 19 weeks and didn't make it. Sadly, a few weeks later, hers didn't either.

Everyone offers kindness and advice, but few people understand what it is like to lose a pregnancy that far along. We are bonded for life. She was so supportive during my difficult pregnancy with Ro, even though she was struggling terribly to conceive again. But they finally did. I was overjoyed for her and already planning on all the cute things I was going to get for her new baby.

But I got a message today that it happened again to them. Almost exactly the same scenario. It was like a roundhouse to the face that knocked me right back to May and June of 2013. I asked my mom to make a dish that this friend particularly enjoys and I left it on her doorstep with a note that essentially just said, "hugs." When I see her, that's all I can offer as consolation. Because, when you're in this horrible, terrible club, there are no words.

clearly at some point there will be bad news, but in the meantime

I have been told on the regular that I am a Negative Neddy. There's not a lot of proof to refute that, so here we are. Sorry this is long, but enjoy the positivity while it lasts!

1. This baby is now at 24 weeks (the produce-size equivalent of either corn or a cantaloupe, depending on whom you ask). That is the furthest me and a baby have ever made it together, so each day is new terrain to discover.
2. This cervix is holding steady, stitch in place. Steady enough that the specialist no longer thinks I need it checked via ultrasound every week. Let's not repeat that bit of news too much out loud or we may jinx it.
3. This baby's heart has all the major components, and they look to be properly formed and working well together. This has always been a concern because heart defects run in my family. If this is the first you're hearing about that topic and you have 12 hours to kill, look up the label "brother" on the side rail and read the 111 posts about him. There could still be problems for the baby down the line, but for today, that ticker is in good shape.
4. If it weren't for the cloud of terrifying possibilities hanging around--that wakes me and keeps me up for hours in the night telling me I'm leaking amniotic fluid, and interrupts all sorts of enjoyable television and not enjoyable conference calls with fears of contractions at every ache and pain--I would really enjoy being pregnant.
5. This baby kicks me. A lot. And I'm grateful for each and every reassuring jab that she's OK in there.  
6. People have been SO wonderful. 
1. Strangers.
2. Coworkers who didn't give a crap about me before.
3. Everybody who doesn't judge me for my extremely, um, ethnic wardrobe of Auntie Patrol-approved muumuus. I scoffed when my aunts sent them for me and now I cannot live without them. (I may never voluntarily wear pants again.)
4. Friends who send me cards.
5. Friends who message to recommend books and see how I'm doing.
6. Friends whom I have gotten to know better because they love someone I am friends with and have reached out with concern and much-appreciated advice about such a scary time from their own experiences.
7. Friends who come over to spend some time with me, won't let me get up to be a proper hostess and don't make me feel bad about it. 
8. Friends who bring their kids over so I can watch them run around and my baby can hear their happy little voices.
9. Friends who don't bring their kids over so we can have an adult conversation. Or watch TV. Or both.
10. Friends who come over and do stuff to help Jon. Even little things like keeping me company so he doesn't have to worry about dinner. And then he can have a few minutes to look at ESPN.com without feeling guilty that the dishes are piling up. Because now Jon has to do EVERYTHING. He has never complained once about it, but still.
11. The "Police" (my mom and my husband) who don't let me lift, walk, use the stairs or pretty much do anything but keep my feet up. I could go on and on and on and on and on about how much these two have done to make my life bearable, but I'll spare you. They are truly my A-Team. The only thing I can hope to give them in return is this baby.
7. The Police let me out on parole and took me to the fabric store for an afternoon. Best afternoon I've had this year. And not only because I got to drive around in the scooter.
8. I have become a legitimate Facebook stalker. Seriously, the OCD is in overdrive and I need to read every single post. And repost. And pontificate about whatever social issue needs pontificating about--such as the overuse of the Oxford Comma. Also, I'm pretty sure I notified EB that her prom date was engaged about 30 seconds after it happened.
9. Everyone but my brother pretends they are not annoyed by my Facebook activity, and some of them even enjoy my posts. Sweethearts.
10. I have discovered Pinterest. I am desperately trying not to fall into that vortex. But I can only browse for about 30 minutes before looking outside at our weedy yard feeling unproductive and useless compared to the Pinterest prizewinners with their beautiful homes, yards and handmade goods. And apparently a lot of time.
11. I have been knitting. I wish I were a lot faster. But then I worry about giving myself carpel tunnel.
12. I have been working. A lot, but not too much. That is ok because:
1. I would be going out of my mind alone all day every day. And worrying.
2. Jon built me this awesome monitor-over-the-guest-bed-hanging-structure so I can truly lie down and work with a wireless keyboard and mouse. My brother gave me a practically new 22-inch monitor so I don't have to crane my neck. It rocks. 
3. I'm trying to get all the crap I do at work in some semblance of order for the people who have to cover for me when this baby comes out. So I am learning to use Microsoft OneNote.
13. I have probably seen more commercials in the last two months than I have in the last two years. The story behind this bored pp (though she'd never admit it) so I will summarize: We only watch dVR, Hulu or Netflix downstairs in the mancave. Jon sold the old jailbroken AppleTV upstairs before they could come out with a new one to make it undesireable. Then I got put on bedrest and can't go downstairs anymore. So unless I want to watch on a small screen in my lap, cable with commercials it is. DIYnetwork has the best ones. 
14. Next week Jon's sisters, M and A (plus nephew Declan!) will be coming for a visit. Madelyn will also come back to hang out. It's always great to have them around.
15. I am just really happy at this moment. 
16. I was worried I complained too much on here, and nobody wants to read blogposts describing the circus in my head, so I will try to post more often now that I'm a little less scared out of my mind.

Again, thank you all for your prayers, your time, your kindness and your love.

and they also sell lawn grass

The woman who used to live in this house continues to receive approximately 10 catalogs in the mail every day. They are eclectic, ranging from Pecans and Fancy Nuts to Gifts from the Audobon Society. 

At first it was kind of amusing, and I was leafing through them for Christmas gift ideas, but it's getting a little ridiculous now. I was telling cc about it the other day. I sent her this photo of the selections of the day:

 That's FootSmart, Uncommon Goods and King Ranch.

"What exactly does King Ranch sell?"

"Stuff from 'the heart of Texas.' " [flips to a random page in the catalog and text messages a cellphone photo of camo-patterned gun cases]

"OMG, I just looked up King Ranch, look what's in there" [texts a link to the SAME EXACT camo-patterned gun cases.]

 I guess you had to be there, but seriously there are days when it's clear that cc and I share a brain.


Thank you all for your love and support. Your love, messages and good wishes mean so much.

pie! in the mail!

Hey, do you know my friend Shalini, author of readingandchickens and the new book, "Lost & Found"?

SHE SENT ME A PIE! IN THE MAIL! FROM SEATTLE!!!

Cranberry Walnut (in the style of a pecan pie) and it is delicious!

 AND they threw in some very good-looking Manchego cheese from Spain. :)

Apparently, the US Postal Service gave her a hard time sending me one of her delicious pies, so she had to send one from a "Bakehouse." I'm imagining it's as good as hers (it's really good).

Thank you, Shalini!!!

looks like she's made it

Hey guess what, Internets, my friend Shalini wrote a book! And people can buy it on Amazon!

I think it is amazing that she's been talking about this for a long time, then put in the sweat and tears and hard work, and now when you click on this link, you can see all that hard work and even read it on your Kindle. 

Who knew that the shy girl with whom I roasted marshmallows in fifth-grade girl scouts and then again in my backyard in high school was going to be a bona fide author (under a pseudonym)?

Makes me believe that things can really happen if you use your talent and a LOT of hard work. Congrats!

***edited to add***
You can get a print copy, now!

however long they tell you, add two weeks

Here are some updates:

• We closed on the house on August 7. 
• There were several projects we wanted accomplished before we moved in, so we set a move-in date for September 1. Almost a month should be long enough, right?
• Several things about the house needed to be updated before we moved in--more posts on those later.
• We hired a contractor, painter, cleaning service, but were thinking we could move ourselves in (after all, Jon and I ended up moving all our stuff into the apartment from the condo by ourselves in 2010).
• During the last week of August, it became clear that we were not going to be able to get out by September 1. We extended our lease at the apartment a week.
• Things are coming together at the house! Jon and I are doing a lot of stuff ourselves, including taking off the baseboards in the bedrooms, which we are guessing are original to the house. Behind the baseboard along the wall where our heads will go when we sleep in our future bedroom, we discovered a mummified bird. While the Internets say that's a bad sign, I've decided that because we found it and will be removing it, we are helping ourselves.
• We are having a horrible time packing the apartment. HOW did we manage to get all this stuff into a one-bedroom apartment? (Note: Do NOT pack up the kitchen first. You will be very sad when your time at the apartment is extended and you cannot use or eat anything you already have).
• Also? I have a ton of stuff in my childhood bedroom at my parents' house. Jon has no idea how much stuff. And I had promised it would only stay until we bought our own house...
•  Oh, and work and comedy are still clipping away at a breakneck speed.

Our house was featured in the latest The Second City shorts competition entry (Jon, Madelyn and company won 2nd place).

Jon: I remember when there was no Adriana, and now she's smarter than all of us

Saturday night we were at mfm's house celebrating her 7-year-old Adriana's birthday. The kids these days, they are so amazing. So articulate and thoughtful. Both she and her sister treat Jon like he is the coolest person in the world. I try not to be jealous, but I am.
We were all sitting out on the deck, having dinner and chatting.

mfm: Did you hear about the baby dolphin at the zoo? [Newborn Dolphin Dies at Brookfield Zoo].

me: Yes, that was really very sad. But I heard it's not uncommon for dolphins.

Adriana: What happened?

me: The baby dolphin didn't make it.

Adriana: Does that mean it died?

me: Yes.

Adriana: Aren't you and Jon going to have a baby on November 1st?

me: Yes, we were. But our baby didn't make it.

Adriana: Your baby died?

me: Yes. But maybe one day we can have another baby.

Adriana: Maybe your baby can be born on August 8, just like me!

me: Are you sure? Because then you'd have to share your birthday party, your cake, maybe even your presents...

Adriana: Hmmm. Well maybe your baby's birthday can be on August 9th.

***

Later on, mfm, ri and I were sitting at the table. Ri was talking about having to find tenants for her old condo. Adriana came up from the backyard and proceeded to put a flower in my hair, and then in ri's hair.* But she still had a few flowers in her hand.

Ri: Who are those flowers for?

Adriana: Someone very special. I'm not telling who. Mom, can I have some string?

mfm: Sure. I'll go find something. [She comes back with a little piece of tulle. Adriana ties it around the flowers and brings them over to me.]

Adriana: This is for your baby. Who died.

mfm had told the girls we were going to have a baby, but it had been so long since anyone mentioned it, she had no idea the kids remembered it at all, let alone the due date. Her plan was to count on their lack of knowledge about gestation and not say anything until we actually had a baby. But Adriana, as usual, was smarter than we expected. I was so touched, I get teary just thinking about it.

*Inquiring minds want to know why, if Jon is "so cool," he didn't get any flowers in his hair. He had about four or five flowers hanging out of each of his back pockets.

lightspeed

CC's son, b, turns FIFTEEN today. Seems like yesterday when he met Jon for the first time and tried to use The Force to kill him.

They grow up so fast. 

Today Jon is running the Super Spartan race with the menfolk connected to some of my college buddies.

His facebook post about it has a link to the eight-plus-mile obstacle race, which may include mud pits, electrified wire and running up hills with buckets of rocks, with the sentence, "This promises to be the dumbest thing I do all year."

To which one of the other guys responded, "You underestimate yourself... You'll do plenty of other dumb stuff. I'm more likely to be hospital bound than you on this one."

It's so flipping hot I can't help but worry someone really might end up needing medical attention. Especially because in the last two months, Jon hasn't been to the gym, and only ran ONCE for three miles. 

But he looks really happy in the picture, so there's that. 

I am on call all weekend, so I figure I may as well go into work and try to catch up on all the crap I did that got erased this past week because of a system upgrade that wiped our test environments. And yet I am still sitting on the couch reading blogs.

***

Yesterday I met up with pp and had a lovely brunch/haircut date. This concept is genius because:

a) I get to hang with pp
b) I get a really sweet haircut
c) I get to try new places to eat in the city
d) The stylist starts the color on pp, does my trim while her hair is "processing," and the whole time we're all shooting the breeze like the do at the salons in movies.
e) My hair looks way more amazing when I leave than anytime I try to do it myself.

Of course, it's not ideal when I'm on call and my phone rings while the stylist is washing my hair. But it was fine.

pp seems to think that because she was a little hung over she wasn't a great date. She doesn't realize that just being in the company of someone who wanted to murder you for hitting snooze for almost five years and manages to loves you ANYWAY is a gift in and of itself. I was in a similar state, having been numbed up at the dentist and failing at chewing. Still a good time.

***

Last night we went to ri and c's house for pizza and booze. Jon was hydrating and carbo-loading--hell, it's the absolute least he could do to prepare for the race today. Highcon facetimed us. They ordered a pizza. C and I proceeded to split like three bottles of wine and we watched their little angel, Ari, toddle around like a champ. Then ri went up to put the baby to bed and accidentally fell asleep. And then I lay down on the couch and accidentally fell asleep. C and Jon talked about electronics and mortgage rates. We never got to the gelato that Jon and I brought. Nobody was mad about all the falling asleep because we've known each other for a quarter of a century and it's all good.

***

I started writing this post thinking everyone is annoyed with me being Debbie Downer the last several posts and trying to post something light and more "normal." But then I read this. If she hadn't turned off comments, I would have told her I feel the same way.

Yes, I think about my daughter minimum 20 times a day and will probably do so for a really really long time. I will probably mention it from time to time. But that doesn't mean I'm not happy for the girl in the office and want to go to her baby shower. Or have a really fun time chasing Ari around the dining room table. People don't have to feel weird. It's ok to talk about. Or not. The more important thing is to spend time together. Even if it entails chomping on the side of your cheek trying not to drool Hollandaise sauce or falling asleep in the middle of a conversation about speaker wire. 

I sincerely hope I will take the time to reach out when someone I care about is sad.

i left with a bag of hair

I was in the mood for a change. For months I was contemplating chopping off my hair again, and decided to make it happen. Of course, I am lazy, so I never *do* it--generally I walk out the door with wet hair and that is fine by me. But I have been trying to make an effort (makeup at least once a week!) lately. I thought I'd take it to the next level.

 A few weeks ago, my friend Claudia was sweet enough to show me how to straighten my hair. My mom bought me a flatiron, but it is still in the box. My hair was long enough to tuck into the back of my pants; especially when straight.

I went to pp's stylist and coordinated my appointment with hers (so she could stop me from doing something insane that I'd regret).   

 

The stylist straightened my hair with the blowdryer and took off 10" as if it were nothing. I still had a good amount to work with, so she started doing her thing. There was a good amount of hair on the floor at the end. 

 CC was concerned about me making the cut in winter (even though it's December 2 and 63 degrees in Chicago), so it's nice that I could keep so much length and still have enough to donate. But it's not long enough for a ponytail, so going to the gym is going to be interesting.

Of course, this is how it looks out of the salon. We will see what "style" my kindergarten-level skills will produce on Monday. Let's just pretend this is what I look like all the time, shall we? 

Now pp and I are on the same trim cycle (apparently I have to start getting haircuts every eight weeks...). Making a date out of getting my hair did with one of my favorite people is probably the best way to make sure I actually do it. 

 

I sort of like linking to old posts, so I'll still throw that in there once in awhile.

it's a preference, not an orientation

In which the word gets out that my husband likes lesbians. 

vote

11.6.2012



I posted this elsewhere earlier, but seriously: Watching election returns makes me wonder if this is what my brother and Jon feel like when their teams are competing for a championship.



This morning I went to the good old elementary-school gymnasium and, as expected, they couldn't find my name (dang apostrophe--they alphabetize it somewhere else every year). But I waited it out and they finally located my ticket. This always happens.

primary punch
In which I was ticked they changed my polling location and then couldn't find my name; I left without voting.

show a little humanity. oh and VOTE
and
"nothing like watching CNN with 125,000 of my best friends"
In which Jon, Jasmine and I stood around Grant Park for hours during the last election. And it was worth it--the energy of so many people happy all at the same time was absolutely amazing.

So many things have changed since that night in 2008. We'll have to see how it shakes out, but perhaps one thing will remain the same.

flashback

People on the East Coast are buckling down with their supplies and their candles for the possibility of a Hurricane-ish storm called Sandy.

A little more than a year ago, Jon and I were flying into New York to have a fun pre-wedding weekend with Ri/C and Highcon at his Manhattan loft apartment. We (and the rest of the island) cleared the shelves of the local CVS and Walgreens and holed up in his place drinking and playing cards.

I didn't appreciate it at the time, but I really needed a weekend AWAY from wedding planning, and being forced to spend it with some of my favorite people, arguing over Monopoly on the iPad, trying to figure out what is so great about Jersey Shore and crowing about being crowned "President" did the trick to get me back on my game. It was a great time.

Last night--just 14 months later--Highcon was in town. So we got together again (this time Kai and her husband were able to make it). But it was a little different, because:

Ri and C have a BABY! When we were in New York, Baby RiC was about the size of a grape--and we didn't *officially* know she existed until we were leaving for the airport to go home (I suspected but didn't want to ask).

Ri, C and RiC moved, and they ended up in the subdivision across the street from us! And while we've all had condos and apartments, there really is something crazy about people so close to us (also our age) who have a house with a driveway and a patio. Wow.

Changes aside, there truly is something warm and golden about keeping in touch with people you've known longer than you didn't know them (does that make sense?). Standing around the kitchen island, washing dishes, we wondered what our 12-, 16- or 22-year-old selves might have said if they could get a glimpse of that scene.

None of us could even imagine.

i'm pretty sure this guy knew his time was up

Chocolate cake topped with chocolate mousse, dipped in chocolate sauce, topped w icing eyes. If I could purchase and deliver this to Ri and C without giving into temptation, I have more willpower than I thought.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

clearly, i watched too much tv as a child

Last week I went to an intimate baby shower for one of my college friends, put on by a crew that includes Angel07 and pp.

Because I've never had a baby or helped raise one in any significant way, I wasn't going to dominate any baby-related questions in the Jeopardy-style game (I knew the first answer but forgot to state it in the form of a question, so I started my team off with negative points--we ended up losing with a score of -1600 to some +500).

However, there was one game that I felt pretty confident about: "Famous TV Families," wherein players had to list all the children in a given fictional family from television.

I finished first and got them all correct--including a bonus point for oops-baby-ratings-boost Chrissy Seaver from Growing Pains.* 

I'm not sure if I should be proud of this or ashamed that I have all this useless knowledge at the ready but can't seem to remember a single thing about Calculus.

*When Jon and I saw The Avengers in the theater, I recognized the girl who played Chrissy (all grown up) and yelled out in the theater, "That's Chrissy Seaver!"

all my life

Last spring, I was still working in a tiny office, phone ringing nonstop, furiously trying to keep people happy. It wasn't always easy: There were grumpy patients, other departments demanding their needs be met first, the undesirable evening shift when we flew by the seat of our pants while the people with answers were at home watching The Bachelor. But no matter how frenetic it got, my partner in crappy hours and multitasking, Eileen, always kept things entertaining.

She had a joyous laugh. She was so sweet with the patients, especially the very young and the very old, and she was so very thoughtful to everyone. Eileen was going to use her experience working in a floral shop to assist us with those paper flowers and was already suggesting all kinds of awesome ideas. She took a lot of pleasure demonstrating moves she picked up watching Bollywood dance numbers on YouTube that she planned to show off at the wedding.

***

We had asked our guests to add song requests to their wedding invitation RSVPs. A surprising number of people interpreted that as a request for first-dance recommendations, including Eileen. She gave me a list of about five, all slow-dance jams. But, she insisted, we absolutely HAD to play her alltime favorite, "All My Life" by K.C. & JoJo. So we added it to the list.

***

The music at our wedding was fabulous. A coworker had recommended a cousin duo of industrious Indian college students who had played her daughter's sweet sixteen party. One of them played the dhol, which was right up my alley. They were responsible and punctual and worked with our list. And the dholi absolutely rocked the house. The only beef I can think of was that I wanted them to play "Personal Jesus" as an homage to the mosh-type circles we had in college every time that song came on, and how I would try and keep up with all the boys. I should have clarified that I meant the Depeche Mode version, because instead they played Marilyn Manson's cover. I guess I can't blame those college kids; they weren't even alive when the original came out in 1989. Ol' Marilyn got the job done, but I think the Auntie Patrol was a bit frightened.

***

By the end of the night, when people were munching on McDonald's cheeseburgers and the bartender with moves straight out of Cocktail was trying to convince my brother to have a "slop shot" (a shotglass full of the spilt liquor from the little plastic mat on the bar--he didn't go for it), I realized that I had yet to hear a single slow song. Amazingly, Jon was actually out there, even though he'd never be caught on a dancefloor unless it's during a slow song. Your wedding day truly is a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Suddenly the deejays were announcing the evening was coming to a close, and the last song was going to be a slow one. My new husband took me in his arms as I caught the first few bars of that piano, and the tears began to flow. Of all the great slow songs on the list, they went with Eileen's number-one choice. I cried onto Jon's shoulder until the lights came up.

There were a lot of people I wished could have been with us on that day.

***

A week later, on our honeymoon, Jon and I were on a white-water rafting trip in Costa Rica. Soaked, tired and sore, we were really happy. Suddenly a butterfly landed on my leg and refused to fly off, no matter how I gently tried to shoo it away. Most likely it was interested in the watermelon juice I had dribbled all over myself, but I chose to believe Eileen had come by to say hello. She loved butterflies.

***

Today, Eileen would have turned 35. She died unexpectedly a week before her birthday last year, and never got to show off her moves at our wedding. I made a purple paper rose and kept a purple set of the bangles that we gave out as favors. Her best friend put them on her grave. It would have been great to see her face light up when she heard her request come over the speakers. I'm pretty sure that for the rest of my life, the song will always make me cry.