the dungeon is kind of an office building now

It’s five in the morning and I am pumping. I thought I was awake because I had a bad dream someone was trying to hurt my child but after tossing and turning for 20 minutes, then reading a bunch of parenting stories about how to protect my kids from predators, and an hour of catching up with what a blogger I used to follow has been doing the last eight years, I realize this strange feeling is the need to empty the tanks. So I’m pumping.

This is stupid because my kid is going to wake up really hungry in about 25 minutes and I won’t have much to give. So I should stop. 

I have so much to say and no time to say it. One of these days I’ll come back here and tell you about my son, who radiates joy every second of the day—even when he’s hungry—and he *may* even prefer me sometimes to his father, which is surprising and nice. And my daughter, who is very likely smarter than I am already: when I tried to convince her a goblin ate her cookie, she said “no, mom, I really think it was you.”

I am filled with anxiety so much of the time—it used to be the mechanism that kept me in line, but I think it’s veering off into the land of hindering more than helping. I’m probably just paranoid. 

Two years ago I started to suspect I had always had ADD and started talking to someone about it. Then I learned if my goal was to have another baby and not consider taking medicine, there’s really nothing to do except techniques and tools you use “until they don’t work anymore.” I did get that baby (it wasn’t easy), and I’m cycling through those techniques and tools. Still, I’m pretty wound up and easily distracted most of the time. 

Last month I went to Greece for 14 days with my best friends from college, leaving my 9-month-old and 3.5-year-old with their dad. I grappled with unbelievable mom guilt about it, but many people were encouraging me to go—including my husband and mother (who would be taking care of the children). Truly the one sentence someone told me that made me feel ok about going was “think of this as “Jon’s separated pelvis.” And while it was probably a rough 14 days for him, as FaceTime showed, trying to heal a separated pelvis (twice) takes a LOT longer than two weeks. Also? An infant doesn’t understand FaceTime. Recording/sending videos is better when you’re on another continent and your child can’t get to you. That brief but heartbreaking experience is probably the reason this government-separating-families-at-the-border thing has been keeping me up at night, crying.

It took me a full ten days to unclench and start to relax on vacation. I did carry the breast pump with me wherever I went and dumped more ounces of precious milk than I care to admit, but I’d be damned if my kid was going to stop nursing because mommy got a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to hang out with her friends in a gorgeous place for 14 days of only having to worry about what she was going to eat for dinner. 

Part of the reason I sought the tools and techniques about the ADD was because I was so miserable at work and of course thought that was my fault. Allowing myself to be bullied probably was, though. After six years, I found an oppportunity to report to a different person and, damn, that makes a big difference.

I am typing this on my phone, and while I am wearing my glasses, I’m pretty sure I’m looking at 0.2 font size. The Blogger app has been unsupported for years and this may not even post. Doesn’t matter because I’m the only one who will read this, likely in a few years when I’m up at night worrying about where we will get drinking water when the United States coastlines have flooded and all those people show up in the Midwest to maim us for lake water. 

Oh the sun is up. Perhaps it’s time to go to bed. 

Im willing to bet you can find that exact line in posts from 2006, when I was working in the dungeon. In rather sad news, the castle where I worked is being turned into condos, so half the staff has been relocated to the dungeon. Which is good, because with all those witnesses, the odds a person will be murdered and dismembered have gone way down. 

vacation

I hadn't had a non-maternity-related time off of work in something like two years. We went to California for a week, and MAN was that nice. I was stressed about traveling with a 10-month-old, but she was a champion.

September 18, 2015. First time with her toes in the sand! Those swimming lessons paid off, in that she wasn't scared.

We spent some quality time with Jon's entire nuclear family enjoying cottages on the the most beautiful United States beach I have seen (Del Mar Resort within Camp Pendleton) in San Diego, then drove to Ventura (Jon's hometown) and met up with relatives and friends, and visited the resting place of our baby. 

Ro had a lot of firsts:

• First time on an airplane (a few very brief rough spots, but she did really well and took a 1.5-hour nap)
• First time eating In N Out Burger (only fast food she is allowed saved for the rare Portillo's treat)
• First time in a long car ride (took us FIVE hours to get from San Diego to Ventura, but we had to make a 45-min pit stop due to a meltdown. Ro glares at us at the mention of "carseat" now.)
• First time seeing the ocean
• First time frolicking in the ocean (assisted) with her cousin, D
• First time (helping Mommy) roast a marshmallow over a campfire for a s'more
• First time sitting in the sand with Aunt M and tasting it (the gross flavor and texture did not deter her from trying it again)
• First time climbing three (!) flights of steps at her Aunt A's house completely unassisted (and with great vigor)
• First time meeting her great-grandmother
• First time staying in the "Penguin Palace" room her Aunt Madelyn made at her grandparents' house
• First time eating sushi (she LOVED baked salmon and the seared tuna; the teriyaki chicken and rice were just ok)
• First time going to the church her daddy grew up attending
• First time eating guavas from the tree in someone's yard
• First time petting animals (a bunny and a cat), and learning to say "cat"
• First time going down a park slide (perhaps the daycare lady has taken her--but to me it was a first)
• First time actually waving with purpose (favorite person to wave at is her grandma).
• First baseball game at Dodger Stadium (next will be Wrigley)
• First hilltop sunset overlooking the ocean (and remembering her sister)

There were probably more, but she had a blast. It was a really great trip we will cherish forever.  

 The Dodgers lost, but it was still a fun time. September 21, 2015. Ro: almost 11 months

the marketing department for the city was on vacation

On my way back from Los Angeles, I had a layover.

Approximately 4 feet away from this sign in the airport was a stand of tshirts that said, "I've tried polygamy!"

farewell, gentle man-grandma

The rule is: If you don't come home for Christmas, you don't get a gingerbread man. And trust me, you want a gingerbread man.

Jon's grandparents make them for each kid in the family each year. They're about the size of your palm and the traditional shape, but they're not boring: Grandpa is in charge of decorating. He uses the red-hot candies and frosts the outline of the clothes. Zap one of those bad boys in the microwave and it's like you're chewing on Christmas. There must be a magical ingredient they're keeping secret from the rest of us, because none of the grandkids who've attempted to make these cookies has done them justice.

The last few years, Jon's mom and aunt have been baking the gingerbread men, but Grandpa insists on icing them--this Christmas it took eight hours, but he made sure they were all well-dressed. And we got to enjoy them because we came to California for the holidays. I'm fairly certain that Madelyn somehow got to eat two.

It was my first Christmas with Jon's family. On one hand, I wouldn't be with my own parents for the first time in 34 years, so that was a little sad. But at the same time I was looking forward to it. I grew up hearing great stories about my mom's house with her six siblings laughing and bickering over making sweets and playing cards until four in the morning at Christmastime. And for so long it has been just my parents, brother and I during the holidays while my friends all went off to sit at "kids' tables" and fight with their cousins. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous, especially because I have a big, loving family--it just takes 23 hours on a plane to meet them for dinner. Jon has three sisters, two brothers-in-law and a brand-new, adorable nephew. It was going to be the bustling family Christmas I had always longed to experience.

Before driving down to Jon's sister's house, we visited Grandma and Grandpa. Jon showed them how to use their new laptop to FaceTime with their great-grandson. They looked so sweet with their headphones, watching him wiggle and coo on the screen. There's nothing like a baby to bring joy to anyone's face, but it's extra special to see that kind of smile on a grandparent.

On Christmas Eve, Grandpa had a heart attack and was admitted to ICU. We were able to see him a couple of times before coming back to Chicago. Jon said it was difficult for him to see the man who has always spoken with such authority and strength barely talk above a whisper. But Grandpa was sitting in a regular chair next to his hospital bed and eating hospital chicken; he looked tired but otherwise pretty ok. We held his hand and told him we'd see him the next time we came to visit. 

Three weeks later, we were back in California for his memorial service. 

We left frigid and icy Chicago for 70-degree, sunny California. The front of the church was lined with beautiful arrangements of roses, irises, green plants. And posterboards of photographs. Grandpa had looked so smart in his military uniform back in the day. People milled about outside, talking quietly. Many of the smiles were directed at the great grandson, who showed up wearing a onesie with a tiny striped bow tie.

The service was lovely. There were hymns and a lot of stories about how Grandpa was funny, such a loving father, and how he treated Grandma like a queen, always. And there was an honor guard: I had only seen this on television and it was really moving in real life. They asked everyone to stand and played "Taps." Sweet Grandma, who is wheelchair-bound and very very thin, held herself up on the arms of her chair for the entire song. After the flag was unfolded and re-folded, one Marine held it close to his heart, turned and knelt before Grandma, presenting her with the flag on behalf of our country and president and armed forces. He thanked her for Grandpa's service.

I did a lot of crying and holding Jon's hand and surreptitiously trying to hide my soggy tissues. I hadn't known Grandpa very well; I've probably spent a handful of afternoons with them when we would come to town. But I know my husband, what a caring man he is, and I know he spent a lot of time with these grandparents growing up. When Jon was little, he would call for "Grandma," but when she came he'd have to clarify, "No, I want the man Grandma." Even on the way home from the service, Jon and his sister M talked about countless summer days spent at Grandma and Grandpa's community pool and how nothing tasted better than Fritos and cranberry juice after a long afternoon in the water.

When Jon and I were first getting to know each other, it took me a long, long time to guess what his favorite flavor of muffin was. Bran. Yeah, because Grandma would make them so delicious every Sunday; they'd have them after church. Jon likes to slice his muffins in half lengthwise, butter in the middle, and warm them in the toaster oven. He never makes bran muffins, probably because they just wouldn't be the same.

The memorial was very sad, as expected. But it was hardest to see Grandma, having also just lost her sister/best friend right before Christmas. She has this crazy notion that being in charge of her care the last few years may have kept Grandpa from staying around longer. She said as much when the family was gathered and discussing next steps. She started to cry. Jon looked her right in the eye, and with a strong and authoritative voice said No, that isn't the case, and I know it for a fact. Then he made a bit of a joke and she smiled through the tears. Later he told me that it meant so much to him to be able to be there in person for her, to at least try to reassure her it isn't her fault, and hug her and tell her again that he loves her so so much. I hope she felt his love for her as much as I did.

During the service, the pastor asked for people to stand up and share something about Grandpa. I'm terrible at funerals, but I wanted to get up there and say something about the gingerbread men. I just never got up the nerve. Which is a shame, because everyone loves those cookies. And I have a feeling they're never going to taste quite as good.

oh, Christmas tree!

Every year, my crafty sister-in-law m, (not to be confused with Madelyn or A, my other sisters in law) makes advent calendars. I have no idea how she has time to do this, but they are always gorgeous and thoughtful and really lovely to receive. Last year, she sent us an over-the-door shoe rack, decorated with glittery snowflakes and pretty numbers for the 25 days before Christmas. Each pocket had three gifts, one for Jon, Madelyn and myself, each wrapped in a certain paper. She did this for everyone in the family! Now I use the rack to wrangle all my yarn.

This year, m changed it up. We received a big box in the mail.

It had a pretty white tree in a pot.

The stripedy red box had a handmade ornament and corresponding tag for each day.

We hung all the tags and the ornaments on the bulletin board. Way nicer to look at than expired coupons.

Some of the ornaments were personalized--like this ball of yarn and knitting needles, for me.

This one was just really pretty.

On the 24th, there was a star for the top, made out of sheet music-paper.

And because Madelyn has been slacking, here is a gratuitous shot of everyone's favorite nephew:
Merry Christmas, everyone!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

the world didn't end after all

I'm in California for the holidays, my first H Christmas! We got in Wednesday, and settled into Jon's childhood bedroom. Then it was family and fun--including Sarah Silverman and Friends (including one of my faves, Aziz Ansari!)--until I went for a walk with my sisters in law.

My oversize wallet was half hanging out of my pocket, and while I took a moment to say, "Self, just watch, you are going to lose your wallet this way," I walked on out the door, around the block, through the park and to the coffee shop. The trip was about 20 minutes, total.

And then I noticed my wallet was gone.

In the following hours I ransacked the entire house, driveway, street, park, coffee shop enlisting help from the family. I even bothered Madelyn when she was out with friends to ask about it. There weren't that many people out, it was the middle of the day, and I couldn't understand where the heck it had gone.

Right before I got to the dirty business of canceling credit cards and completely flipping out about how I was going to get on a plane without my Drivers' License, Jon suggested we check the post office. He thought he had seen a mail carrier around when we were frantically checking every lawn on the sidewalk. News to me, but people who find wallets sometimes drop them off to the old P.O.

We went to the nearest post office looking for the mail carrier for his block, but they didn't have it. The sweet girl behind the counter apologized and said they didn't have it, but we could try the bigger post office in town.

Jon drove me down to the bigger post office, where the line was out the door with people trying to get their holiday cards in the post. I rang the buzzer at the post-office box window. A mail carrier came to help and then called the boss.

When the boss walked up to the window and said they have my wallet, I about did a cartwheel. I had been ready to give up--apparently the nice lady at the first post office called and said a couple would be coming by and to send them back to the first place. Someone had put my wallet in their mailbox!

All the cash was gone, but my credit cards, ID and gift cards were all there.

IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!


And the best part? I didn't have to have my parents express-mail my passport to get home. I hope whoever took my money does something good with it. I'm just thankful they put my stuff in a mailbox and not a trashcan.

the club can't even handle me right now

The best thing I have in my life is the love from family and friends. Because I really do think I have the best anyone could ask for. I've always felt lucky to have them, but throughout the chaos of this wedding, I was overwhelmed by how generous and thoughtful these people are. There's a very good chance I don't deserve them. But there's no way in hell I'm ever going to give them back.

Just one of a hundred examples? The Bachelorette Party

My team, captained by my brother as the maid of honor (whose ideal idea of Vegas is surely spending the weekend with his sister and a bunch of her girlfriends), put together an amazing weekend in Las Vegas. While I cannot divulge details of what happened (keep your minds clean, people), I will give you some of the highlights:

• adjoining suites at The Venetian
• fabulous pools
• phenomenal food at Mesa Grill
• chilling at Tao pool (apparently the same spot they took Kim Kardashian for her bachelorette the weekend before)

The deejay at TAO pool started playing "Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO and when it got to the chorus, they launched all these beachballs (probably about 50) off the roof of the cabanas onto all of us in the pool. It was a very nice touch.

• walking around the strip
• the spa at Encore--omg 
• Cirque du Soleil's Ka
• a very interesting scavenger hunt at the clubs (let's just say I had my picture taken with a guy wearing a pinkie ring and managed to find an off-duty police officer) of which I got 95% of the items checked off the list
• Tabu*
• making international friends from places as exotic as Canada
• grilled cheese at 6 a.m.--next to a table of passed-out asian boys who wouldn't even sit up for their eggs
• Bloody Marys at Mon Ami Gabi (at Paris), with the second-best server I've ever met
• Doritos mac n cheese and Philly cheesesteak dumplings with a view of Treasure Island fireworks
• JABBAWOCKEEZ (awesome surprise, and even better than I thought they'd be)
• scandalous peoplewatching at brand-new Brand (let's just say that VIP is a section I'll be passing on in the future, thankyouverymuch)
• more hanging at the pool
• Deep-fried oreos on the biggest ice-cream sundae I've ever seen
• Dim Sum, with congee (everyone except my bro was a good sport about trying new stuff

AMAZING. I cannot convey just how spoiled and loved I still feel just thinking about it.

People flew in from all over just to celebrate with me, and some who weren't able to make it set up another trip a few weeks later, to New York. It was considerably different, what with Hurricane Irene and all, but also a wonderful time. And while I was freaking out about missing a weekend of wedding prep, I think the mandatory break saved me from a breakdown of other sorts.

Spoiled. And very very grateful.





*In Las Vegas we discovered a delicious drink that didn't *taste* that strong, called L.A. Water. It may or may not have played a part in the festivities. Let's get a look at the ingredients, shall we? 

1 1/2 oz Absolut® vodka
1 1/2 oz gin
1 1/2 oz white tequila
1 1/2 oz white rum
1 1/2 oz triple sec
1 splash sweet and sour mix
1 1/2 oz Midori® melon liqueur
1 1/2 oz Chambord® raspberry liqueur

It was a great time.

spent the whole week looking forward to all i'd accomplish today

Today was my day off.  I woke up at 7a. I didn't actually eat, but snacked. I did all the laundry. I took a bunch of CDs my mom gave me so I could import their contents onto her iPod and realized that she already had 80% of them. I mended a couple pieces of clothing that I'm not ready to part with yet. Then a contractor came to see about a leaky pipe. We went and painted some pottery, then watched Dexter over pizza.

I have no idea where the time goes. Am I just underestimating how long it takes me to do stuff? Because this lack of checklist checking off is really getting me down.

St. Martin's Summer

The last two days have been GORGEOUS in this part of Illinois. Sixty-eight degrees, y'all! WAHOOO!
Of course, I haven't really been able to take advantage of it because of all the working and side projects, etc, but I sure have appreciated the heck out of it through the office, house and car windows. Jon took the opportunity to take an oil bath under my car, which would have been a lot more miserable if it were 22 degrees like most years, so that was nice, too.

The last time I remember such a spectacular Indian Summer St. Martin's Summer was in 2005. Right around the 3rd. Longtime readers may know that on that particular night, I went to Midway Airport at 1:10 a.m. (after my shift) to pick H (Jon) up from the airport and meet him in person for the first time. The funny thing is, I didn't know where this little meeting was going to lead, so I breezed over the experience in my subsequent post--the only reference to Jon was, "My company that night showed tremendous patience and sportsmanship, despite all the tailgating, screaming at traffic, time requesting, running, hostess pleading and inhaling of food that my tardiness demanded. The only comment was, 'you know, Cadiz, you definitely get an A+ for planning. It's just the execution that needs a little work.' "

What I didn't mention was that it was 60-some degrees and we were running around Navy Pier, Millennium Park and all over the suburban Chicago area in November without coats as if it were springtime. It was such a great weekend. For so many reasons, but the weather certainly helped.

Two years later I described that first visit again. For the record, Jon is a pro at revolving doors now. In fact, for a long time, the running line was that whenever Jon came to town, he'd bring the gorgeous So-Cal weather with him. Even in January, when we had to ice skate in a big puddle.

Sadly, when Jon moved to Chicago it seemed the streak was broken. It's been HELLA cold the last two winters. Sometimes when it's brutal, he likes to tell me the temperature in his hometown. And while I go to great lengths justifying this Midwest weather, I enjoy these heat-wave bursts more than anyone. The good news? It looks like I might have an ally on his side of the family!

m.i.a. for a little bit longer

Okay so I have to make this one quick; my dad's niece, her husband and 1-year-old are taking their first States-side tour from Dubai. They will be the first and only blood relatives we've had for a visit since my Nani lived with us for a year in the mid-'80s, so I've been in suburbia for the last several days overseeing the completion of home improvements that have been languishing unfinished for decades. (Seriously, if you want to finally get that box of tiles in the basement up onto the kitchen backsplash, just tell your dad that some long-lost relatives are flying in and you'll be amazed how fast it gets done.)

As for Citibank, I finally realized that they don't give a flying monkey dung about helping me; why would they lower my payments when they can pile on the late fees instead? I took out a loan from the only reliable bank in town, Mom & Dad LLC, got current and as soon as the family visit is over I'm going to try and get into one of those programs some other way. And find myself any kind of job with health insurance (those of you who are covered but have been putting off going to the doctor, get your heads out of your behinds and TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES). I've promised my dad that I will never speak to a Citibank representative ever again. I have thirty days, starting next week.

But I have about thirty seconds left to be on the computer--my childhood bedroom is not going to clean itself.

back, back from Cali, Cali

I had such a fabulous time in California. The first week, with cc and her family, made me feel as though I had just left the spa without even getting a massage (however we did get pedicures; I even splurged on the little flower design). Cc had such a bounty of delightful things to show me around San Diego, from her neighborhood (big ups to North Park/Hillcrest!) to Balboa Park and the world-famous zoo. Plus there was a lot of hanging out, a little WWE Monday Night Raw with b, shopping, and so much good food--not to mention the margaritas!

The first day I arrived, the temperature was near 90 degrees, so we decided to go to the beach. However I was not prepared for how cold the water was, so I only got in up to my knees. A few days later the temperature was dipping into the 50s. Cc said I saw the full spectrum of year-round SD weather in the span of a week.

We met up with one of H's sisters and her husband for dinner, and while I was the only one without my honey, somehow I was the target of the mariachi serenade. And then there was dessert: If you're in San Diego, be sure to check out Extraordinary Desserts. I've already had at least one dream about their Roasted Coconut Cream Torte, with more to come until I can get back there and have another piece. H's sister mentioned something about a crazy man who shot someone there a few years ago, but I'm telling you, those cakes are totally worth the risk.

At the end of the week, I hopped on the Amtrak to Los Angeles (the train goes by about 20 feet from the ocean in some spots) where H and his sister picked me up. We had a few very relaxing days with his family, during which I got to see a lot of adorable baby photos, spend quality time with his grandparents and have a few more In and Out Burgers--another thing I will probably be thinking about until I can get back there again.

But the main reason we were out in the Golden State was because H's buddy's sister asked him to photograph her wedding. She flew us out there and accommodated my trip to San Diego. During the event, I backed him up with another camera and was so busy I didn't have time to think about how I didn't really know anyone there.

Combined, we took about 2,200 shots that day. This is one of my favorites.

I'll work on my belly-to-belly suplex and get back to you

Just a quick note to apologize for the exorbitant length of that last post. Skimming all that stuff was actually very tiring, so I'm hoping the California sunshine will inspire some good posts. From what I gather, cc is busy making all sorts of fun plans and b informed me that the WWE has added an extra night of wrestling just in time for my visit. Apparently the legacy of the "professional" wrestling my brother used to watch--Jake "the snake" Roberts, "Macho Man" Randy Savage, "Rowdy" Roddy Piper, Hulk Hogan and Ted "the million-dollar man" DiBiasi--continues through their children. This I've gotta see.

A wedding in technicolor

Last weekend, H, his family and I attended his cousin's wedding in Carmel, Indiana. I drove the cadizmobile, with H and his sisters along for entertainment. Little did we know that the destination was Pleasantville.

When we pulled into the subdivision/village/whatsit of West Clay and parked the car, it really seemed as though we had arrived in some back-lot movie set. Everything was idyllic in the way it only looks on Wisteria Lane. There was a lush park of green grass in the center with a gazebo, and all around were perfect little houses with perfect white picket fences; everything so gleamingly new (or so it seemed). I kept looking around for the Truman Show-cameras. Even the stores looked like modern-day market streets with perfect signage that all went together like an old-time movie.

The wedding was held at the gazebo; complete with kilted bag-pipe artist. (There was a family playing in the grass, way to the left of this shot, and I swear they were auditioning for a Juicy Juice commercial. Or dog food. I couldn't decide.)

Seriously, though, it was a lovely wedding. The bridal party walked up a long carpet of fluffy grass and the ceremony was sweet (and pretty short; thank goodness, because I could feel my skin cooking in the 90+ degree heat. Times like those I really wish wearing hats was still in fashion).

I should have taken more shots of Pleasantville/Truman Show.

The white building is where the festivities took place. If you look closely at the set of pastel storefronts on the left, you'll see what I mean about it looking like a movie lot—all the shops and restaurants were untarnished and uniform, give or take a paint shade.

But I have to say, the party planners had great taste. I really liked the colors—various greens and white—and while I felt bad for the bridal party having to be out in the heat, (they were wearing all black with different dress cuts), I felt worse for us; at least those guys were in the shade of the gazebo.

After the ceremony, there was a lovely cocktail hour with drinks/appetizers in the courtyard area (where all the people are gathered in the above photo). It was shady in certain areas and the wind was misting us all with the spray of the fountain.

Once inside, we found a lovely green/white/chocolate cake in the center of our table. It was a novel idea to me that dessert would be there to taunt us for the entire time we tried hard not to look at it and guess what kind of cake we had (each table had a different flavor).

Ours was Mint/chocolate. Yum!

The rest of the wedding was great. Dancing, chatting, meeting; you know, all that good stuff. They had a chocolate-covered-pretzel/nut/candy bar that you were supposed to fill bags with whatever you wanted as a takeaway, but you had to move fast, and I was too slow to snag any of the pretzels.

For the sendoff, they had everyone grab two industrial-strength sparklers from a bucket and a matchbook with the couple's names on it and line up along one of the staircases. Surprisingly, everyone pretty much cooperated, and the bride and groom ran for cover through a tunnel of sparkly sparklerness to their car and sped away.

That's them: the groom's on the left. They moved pretty fast. Personally, I'd be worried somebody's AquaNet-ified hair would burst into flames, but everyone managed to escape un-singed.

Of course, the party wasn't really over once the guests of honor flew the coop. This groomsman looked hell-bent on kicking it hard core:

Yep, he's in the fountain. If the rest of the bridal party had joined them with umbrellas, it'd been a pretty sweet homage to Friends.

Sadly, things did start to wind down shortly after that. But one of H's sisters, his dad and myself didn't want to head back so soon, so we closed out the bar on Pleasantville row with some of their extended family. And even after that we didn't feel like going to sleep, so H's sister and I dipped our feet in the hotel pool and talked a lot of smack about H (just kidding). I had a good time.

On the way back to Chicago, I was telling H about the proselytizing billboards I used to see while driving through Indiana back in the day on Interstate 80, and how there weren't that many on I-65. But then we came up on the doozy we had passed on the way in:

Funny, it says "Jesus is Real" when you're going toward Chicago, and if you turn around and look behind you, it says "Hell is Real" on the way into Indiana. Coincidence?

she may not be a techie, but she's pretty adorable

This weekend, H's family came to the Midwest to hang out with us and attend his cousin's wedding in Indianapolis. On Friday night they had a casual dinner with my parents at Famous Dave's. 

I had met all three of H's sisters and both of his parents several times on my frequent trips to California, and both of my parents had met his dad when we was here on business last year, so I'm pretty sure nobody was nervous about meeting each other, but I think it went well; everyone seemed to be laughing, talking and enjoying themselves—we stayed for two and a half hours and closed out the place, and then had a lovely walking tour of my construction-addled downtown.

One thing I don't think my parents were expecting was just how much H's family already knew about all of us because they read this blog. His peeps initially checked it out to see if this random girl in Illinois was good enough for their only boy, but after three years they're some of my most loyal readers. And their Web savvy comes in handy sometimes, like when my twitter updates revealed we were trapped in the bayou of Alabama for hours in the dark. His parents started researching news updates to find out what the heck happened so we'd know how long we'd be stuck. Unfortunately, Alabama isn't quite as savvy, so there weren't any updates to be had (and oddly, the only news radio station that we could get was WBBM 780, in CHICAGO.)

My mom and dad don't really read the blog. I attribute that to their slower-than-molasses dialup and reluctance to come home and look at a screen. Plus, I talk to them at least once a day, so anything they'd read will already have been old news. But after finding out that other people were in on all the scoop because of it, my mom passed along the address to her tech-friendly pals. I had to remind her of what it was, letter by letter, over the phone. 

She calls back a few hours later because her friends are asking how they'd know it was really my blog* because neither my photo nor my real name is on it. I told her to tell them to look for all the green and the photo of the cornfield across from our subdivision. 

"Oh yeah, I remember that. And your name on there is Cod-zee, right?"

*Welcome, ladies! Feel free to look around and click the links on the right to see some of the old stuff. 

catching up with cadiz: wrigley field

For those of you wondering where the heck I've been, I apologize. Things have been mighty busy, and there have been dozens of posts that have been drafted and dumped because they didn't get posted in a timely manner. Here is one I thought I could salvage, even though I don't remember a lot of the details now. More posts to come, hopefully soon.

When my brother was in town (at the end of May, which feels like a million years ago), H and I took him and his roommate, Mark, to Wrigley Field for a tour.

The marquee (I remember it best from that flashback in Sleepless in Seattle).

The view from Waveland, near where everyone stands around in hopes of catching a ball.

The Chicago Bears played at Wrigley until 1970 and it's been used for soccer (Chicago Sting), concerts and they even had a ski-jump competition.

Originally it housed 14,000 fans and now can seat up to 41,000. We were a little mesmerized about how weird it looked all empty like this.

The place was the first to have an organ (the original is now in the Hall of Fame).

It's also the first baseball field where they allowed fans to keep foul balls as souvenirs.

No one has ever hit the scoreboard--with a baseball. Sam Snead hit it with a golf ball, teeing off from home plate.

If you look closely, home plate and the pitcher's mound don't line up with the "400" sign in center field. When they wanted to add seats, they cut left field and rolled it all back. The pitcher's mound now is where home plate used to be.

AC006299: "After Championship, it's been zero years since their last division championship, it's been 62 years since they won the pennant and it's been 99 years since they last won the World Series. The latin roughly translates to "Let's go Cubs."

People hang out on rooftops during games, too. Sometimes they light up that spinning Harry Caray wheel.

We got to sit in the pressbox. It's a real nice view.

Radio booth, where they might possibly sing "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" during the seventh-inning stretch. Or not. I don't remember.

We got to go into the locker rooms. This one's for visitors.

This is how you're supposed to wear the uniform.

Don't forget your bats, either.

Professional athletes need a LOT of products to look good on the field. And this was the visiting bathroom.

Squint and you'll see a wedding party. Apparently people like to have their photos taken at Wrigley. (Sounds like something my brother would want).

We went on the tour right before the Dodgers/Cubs series at the end of May, and we went to a couple of games. H got a bunch of shots of himself with this dodgers round identifier thingy. It's huge; this photo is from the pressbox. (And I've been informed that it's called the "on-deck circle.")

When we were at the game the next day, these cute old guys would entertain the crowd with their impromptu band.

H caught Derrek Lee's home run. (In fact, he took most of these photos--the good ones, at least.)

Personally, I go to ballgames for the hot dogs and beer. And the peoplewatching.

The Dodgers didn't fare too well in that series. They got swept, and Murphy's Bleachers rubbed it in. Sorry, H. But at least they made a grammatical mistake in their rush to gloat.

The famous ivy.

can't never catch up

Last week I admitted on twitter that I was having a Jessie Spano "I'm so excited" moment, and some of you expressed your concern (Thanks for the "no hope with dope" reminder, Omar).

It's not that things are bad, or even really terribly hectic, but for some reason, I feel like I'm behind, like there are eleventeen hundred things that would better serve me to do than sitting around watching last season's So You Think You Can Dance all in one long Cat-Deely-narrated marathon. Yet there was nothing I could do to remove myself from its tractor beam.

Or maybe it's the waiting. Patiently anticipating has never been my strong suit; I always feel more productive walking twenty blocks than waiting twenty minutes for the bus, even though it takes a lot longer. The waiting—for things we've worked for to fall into place so I can finally relax—is killing me. So much so that the acid reflux/ulcer/monster in my stomach is coming back. I really hope I don't have to sleep sitting up again.

So in relaxation exercise, I share some of these shots of my trip to my brother's graduation:

I don't know too many people who can say they've been on a Jumbo Tron.

Mobile Bay, just behind the restaurant we went to for a celebratory dinner after the ceremony. There was a dock back there from which people were giving pontoon and airboat rides. We had to wait about two and a half hours for a table, and I was mighty tempted to hop on one and search for alligators.

*

But it was worth the wait: This was the view from our table. That was also where I tried alligator (small bites and a nice spicy sauce). It also had some killer Key Lime Pie.

Driving 14 hours in a Chrysler Sebring (the backseat is like a vortex—so close to the ground that adults can barely see out the windows) with my parents and H wasn't nearly as bad as it could be. Even though we were stuck on a bridge the bayou for three hours in the dark with hundreds of other cars because of a fatal accident, with no idea when we'd be able to see the inside of a bathroom. I had the through-the-night driving shift both on the way there and back, and couldn't help myself but cheer as we passed through a little town in Kentucky:

H was awake on the way back so I pulled over and made him take some pictures. I was in some of them, but after six hours of middle-of-the-night driving (on top of the three-hour bayou delay) I was looking disheveled at the very best and probably a lot more like a psychotic demon because of the way my hair got so very frizzy and frazzled down there in the humidity. So I'll spare you that nightmarish image. I'm dying to know how they pronounce it down there, but I'm pretty sure I'd have some shoes thrown at me if I tried to stop and find out at 3 am.

***UPDATE***

Sorry it's not more exciting. No actual woodmen were spotted, however there was a lovely (retention) pond by the side of the turn off.

* All photos were taken by H, except for the one of the airboat, which was courtesy of Cadiz.