the 'rona

We are now a full week into Illinois's Shelter in Place to stop the spread of the COVID19 virus. To say I'm anxious is an understatement. We didn't hoard (ok, maybe I do have a couple more boxes of Triscuit and Wheat Thins than I normally keep) so I'm scared we won't be able to find toilet paper when the time comes that the 15 rolls we have left are gone.

There are people who are not taking the social distancing recommendation: staying six feet away from others and only leaving the house for necessary tasks like getting food or going to work if you're an "essential" employee. I wish I could say with certainty that every member of my family is following this advice, but I suspect my father--whose mantra is "nothing happens"--can't help himself. This is terrifying because, while he is 70+ and definitely at risk, my mother is immunocompromised from all the chemo drugs, and susceptible of getting very very sick if she gets it. That said, she's "essential." She works in the hospital and I'm trying very hard to convince her to retire. With very little success.

The local hospital is putting employees that don't have much to do right now (like outpatient mammography technologists) into a "labor pool," and sending them to do needed tasks around the place, like sanitizing and cleaning and picking up trash. At our community hospital there are nine cases of COVID19. I can't even keep up with these statistics. I think it's something like 85,000 cases in the United States at this point. The numbers don't really reflect reality because we aren't testing enough people.

There's so much to say about the political state of the world, but I'm trying to focus on how people are pulling together--my alma mater has come up with a ventilator they are putting into production very soon. The vacuum people, Dyson, also invented a ventilator and are getting 55K in production. Abbott Labs in the Chicago area invented a 15- or 13-min (depending on the result) test that is approved by the FDA and is getting out for use next week. Plus there are various therapies and vaccines that are in clinical trials.

H and I are working from home, as we are essential-adjacent, but we know people who have lost their jobs and are struggling. My brother, for whom I worry the most, is reluctantly staying home and working from home (also essential-adjacent) and probably withering from loneliness in his big old house alone, though he'd never say so. H's folks are also sheltering in place, the professors teaching online and the others working from home as much as they can.

We have the kids at home with us; our daycare shut down along with the shelter-in-place order. "Working" while the kids are home has been challenging at best, and I pray that our inability to be as productive isn't going to affect our employment. I realize how lucky we are to even make that statement, in light of how many people applied for unemployment this week--3.3 million--blew the previous record out of the water. I heard on the radio that unemployment is projected to hit 30 percent. It was 25% during the Great Depression.

These are strange and terrifying times. I can't recall how many times I've heard the word "new normal." But nothing about this is normal. We have tickets for the August 13 "Hella Mega Tour" at Wrigley Field concert featuring Green Day, Fall Out Boy and Weezer. We had been searching for a fourth person to join H, my brother and I. However, I suspect that isn't going to happen now.

Ro's kindergarten roundup was canceled in early March. She's supposed to start school in the fall, and we were planning to hurry up and sell our house, then buy another one in my parents' school district--ideally so she'd go to school next door to their house. I don't know what is going to happen now. Maybe she will go to the school near us and the trajectory of our lives will be much different than what we had planned. I guess that's the way things always go, though.

The thing that terrifies me the most is H or I getting this and leaving our children without a parent; flawed as we are, no one will love them as much as we do. I have recurring nightmares about this. Only slightly less frightening is that a loved one will get this and we will have to contemplate their suffering (or worse) without being able to be there with them. I've already started hearing about people losing grandparents without having been able to say goodbye. No one is having funerals anymore, either.

Dr. Anthony Fauci, the nation's go-to guy about these things said that a highly contagious symptom-less upper respiratory virus like this is a worst-case scenario. Even worse than Ebola, because it's very obvious who has Ebola and you can only catch that if you're in very close contact with that person. They are finding COVID19 on surfaces of those cruise ships 17 days after everyone had been off of them. Not good.

The grocery and convenience stores are still open. The truck drivers are still making deliveries. Some people are acting like this is a staycation. People are cheering for healthcareworkers, who are starting to become infected and dying here, as they have been in China and Italy for some time. Things are going to get much worse before they get better. And yet, I'm hearing about people secretly meeting up to work out together or have game night with booze. Do they think they're invincible? They know enough not to advertise what they're doing, so clearly this is just selfishness, right? But because of their weakness we will all be trapped in our homes and there will be unnecessary deaths. And that makes me so mad. SO mad.

My biggest struggle is that those who are complaining about being stuck at home, or talking about online shopping or day drinking or hobbies aggravate me. It's not their fault, but I can't look at one more person mourning the high school seniors' lack of Prom or Graduation without wondering how bad the wailing would be if those promising youngsters were instead being drafted into a war. And those who are so incredibly inconvenienced by staying home getting together to work out and potentially spread this around further, they make me irate. Probably way more angry than I have any right to be. Unfortunately for them, I will be remembering those who joke around about being "an irresponsible human" and going out for drinks or dinner when we should have been staying home. I see them in a different light and it makes me sad, then guilty. Because who am I to be judging people? This is the stuff that keeps me up at night: Fear, judgment and guilt.

growing, changing

My brother moved out of suburbia to the city a few weeks ago. I think after having lived on his own for years, he'd had enough of his (and my former) roommates asking if he'd eaten, whether he'd be home for dinner, where he was going and if he needed his work pants ironed. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me, but to each his own, I guess. Even though I didn't see him too often when he lived in the next town, I now miss him as if he had up and moved to New Mexico. Especially because I am on limited activity (they won't let me drive and going up/downstairs is for when I get to leave--only for work), I feel kind of trapped in the house. 

This week, Madelyn loaded up all her stuff into a van and moved to the city. The door to her room is usually closed, but now it stands open. The room is bright and so, so empty. It makes me a little sad. But I walked in there after she had left and immediately got the feeling that yes, this should be the baby's room, something I hadn't really let myself think about too much.

Last week I had a little freakout with some odd, shooting pains and went into the hospital. Turned out I was having contractions, but they were so mild they barely registered. While I was feeling guilty about scaring everyone, the peace of mind knowing that all is ok was totally worth it. I have started feeling little taps from my belly; a crazy, amazing feeling. It blows my mind that I'm walking around with a separate person inside of me who will have its own dreams, opinions and ideas. 

The day all of Madelyn's stuff was boxed up in the living room and being loaded, Jon and I went to see the doctor for our baby's 20-week checkup. We had to wait a long time to be seen, and I kept telling Jon that they only attend to you right away if something is really wrong. My cervix looks to be healing nicely and staying together at a decent length. The baby is measuring to be right on schedule to come out around October 30 if she stays in there that long. That's right, we are growing a little baby girl.

People have babies all the time; it's happened billions of times, actually. But I've never gotten this far before, and everything seems so insane and amazing as if it's happening for the first time, just to me. I'll bet everyone feels this way. I don't know what it is, but finding out the gender of the first baby made things hurt all over again, and finding out the gender of this baby makes the whole thing seem different, somehow, and very very real. It's harder not to think about the name, or the nursery or what kinds of stuff I can manage to make for the kid before she emerges. I'm trying to rein myself in, but it's tough.

I just hope everything goes ok. Thank you all for your good wishes and love.  

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).

previouslies

So here we are at the beginning of NaBloPoMo for, what is it, the sixth year (?!?) of posting every day during the month of November. This year, I've promised to talk about the wedding. Now is a good a time as any to give y'all somewhat of a recap, LOST-style.

• In March 2005, I was working crazy hours in Chicago and missed my friends. I started this blog.
• So did a bunch of other people; we started commenting on each others' blogs and got to be pals.
• A lot of us did "100 things about me" posts. It was a thing.
• Back then it was still a little creepy to be "meeting people off the Internet."
• As skeptical as I was, I took the risk. And one of those people turned out to be my husband, Jon. Here are the details about how we met.
• We dated long-distance for nearly three years. It was tough.
• My industry took a nosedive. I was laid off, then got a great job only for it to be dissolved. A couple of times. In fact, once I got laid off on my birthday and Jon was laid off the very next day. Sad.
• We took it as a sign. He moved to Chicago. 
• Both of us started at the bottom in new careers.
• He proposed to me on September 20, 2009, in my condo downtown.
• It took us two years and four months to sell that condo--we told people we couldn't get married until 2013.
• We entered a contest. And we actually came fairly close to having a shot at the dream wedding.
• We moved to suburbia and weren't hemorrhaging money anymore, so we saved ruthlessly and moved up the date to September 17, 2011. 
• There was a LOT of do-it-yourself stuff to this wedding. And perhaps some very optimistic deadline-setting. But everything got done.
• Jon's sister Madelyn moved here in May, 2011. She lives with us.
• We had an amazing wedding. It's one of the best days of my life, and a celebration of all that we've been through since I started this blog. Madelyn and my brother were the best man and maid of honor, respectively. Yes, you read that correctly.
• My brother got a job in Chicago and moved back home on October 31, 2011. He lives with my parents.

This is a great time of year. The commitment to posting brings out what I love most about having a blog, especially when people make comments. If you have time, check out some of the other people who have promised to post every day this month.

You never know just who you'll end up meeting.

picking up speed

Madelyn is somewhere in Iowa, driving a car packed full of her worldly belongings, moving here. I am frantically trying to get everything in order. Because the last thing a person needs after driving thousands of miles is to find a place for her stuff among piles of half-finished centerpieces, magazine cutouts and crafting supplies all over the place. Plus there's a big deadline tomorrow for which I am not nearly as prepared as I should be, 24 hours out.

So as much as I would love to spend an hour writing a post to get me motivated, I should really get going. That bathroom is not going to clean itself.

Drive safe, Madelyn!

After 765* days on the market, the condo is sold.

A lot has happened since that post about the fortune cookies. If you don't want to read it all, I will not be offended. Bolded parts will give you the gist.

• We switched realtors. Our old realtor was fancy, but I think too concerned with the million-dollar properties he was dealing with. Our new realtor is my friend from high school named Mala Gandhi with Coldwell Banker who is PHENOMENAL (she deserves her own post). I am kicking myself for not asking her at the outset due to a misconception that she only worked in the suburbia. Seriously, email me if you're selling/buying anywhere in suburbs/Chicago; I will hook you up.

• We got an offer on our first showing with Mala. Unfortunately, the buyer wouldn't budge on his offer and decided to go with one of the 18 foreclosures in the building. :(

• We got an offer on our third showing with Mala. This one really seemed promising. We bargained and came to an agreement. After two years this was actually going to happen! We were excited.

• I visited CC in San Diego. We did so much awesome stuff, including hanging out in Coronado at the hotel where Some Like It Hot was shot, as well as fancy high tea.

• In exchange for the plane tickets, Jon and I shot his friends' wedding in LA, much like we did with that friend's sister at about the same time at the same location last year. We tried very very hard not to repeat stuff from last year, as a lot of the guests were the same, but it was a whole different ballgame.

• We were supposed to close at this point on the condo. But because regulations have gotten so tight on lenders, they perform checks at the beginning of the process as well as at the end. This buyer is very solid; there was no problem with him. However he wants it as an investment to rent out, and for that Fannie Mae requires the building to be at least 51% owner-occupied. At the start of the deal 246 units in our building were owner-occupied. The day before close? 251. And that was enough to derail our sale. I was DEPRESSED, because all around us, units were dropping prices like insects smacked dead against a wall. If this deal didn't happen, we wouldn't be able to compete with those foreclosures and thus would continue giving all our money to the mortgage and not be able to move on with life until this economy turns around. You know, when we're 87.

• One of my BFFs Highcon is a superduper rockstar at his job. In appreciation, his company awarded him an all-expenses paid, four-day trip to The Bahamas. For two. He asked me to come "because I've had a rough couple of years." So--with Jon's blessing--I went. It was awesome; especially swimming with dolphins. Thank heaven for BFFs.

• Basically in the time it took for me to fly home from Nassau, the deal with the same buyer somehow was back on track with a new lender. Closing was set for June 4.

• We lost the money I had hastily put down on an apartment near the train station (so Jon could get to work) before the first closing. But I didn't feel so terrible when he spotted two little squirrel faces poking out of a hole in the roof above our potential unit.

• Mala found us another apartment for a good price. We signed the lease and cleaned the heck out of it. It's not nearly as nice as the condo I was selling, but really, what is?

• Closing was set for 9 a.m. Jon and I stayed up late packing, so when my parents showed up at 5:30 (there has been a LOT of construction and they didn't want to be late) we tried to get them to go out for breakfast so we could sleep a little more. But we were awake already, so we just got going. Over the next 60 hours, we got a total of 6.5 hours' sleep.

• There were several other snags during closing that I don't have the energy to explain, but let's just say we got to know our buyer pretty well as we sat there for four and a half hours before the deal was done. It didn't feel real until I handed him the keys. Nice guy. I hope the renters he gets don't completely destroy the upgrades (esp the beautiful but soft bamboo floor) we worked so hard to make.

• Moving was a NIGHTMARE. Between the lack of sleep and the lack of food (I had an egg sandwich and OJ and Jon had a Jamba Juice, that is all) and the stress of trying to get out of there by the end of the night, it was not our best day, with our next worst day nowhere near close behind. If I had to deal with us that day, we would have been smacked. My brother happened to be in town and saved our butts on more than one occasion.

• Our good friends MFM and A got a babysitter so they could help us move. We thought we'd be in suburbia with a truck full of stuff by 5. They were going to help us try and squeeze the couch and other big furniture into the 1960s elevator. Sadly, at 5 p.m., not even half of our stuff was into the truck back in the city. I called them at about 7 to let them know to eat because we weren't going to make it to the apartment at a decent hour, but forgot to add that they should probably go home. They waited around for us at the mall until 9:45. And that day was their 5th wedding anniversary. We feel terrible about ruining it.

• As the sun came up through the floor-to-ceiling windows we got the last of our stuff out of the condo. It was sad. That place was the last remainder of my old professional life, ten years of slogging crap hours for little pay doing what I enjoyed and hoping it would eventually pay off. All those weekends not going out with my friends, of living with my parents so I could save to buy a place of my own. And it's all vapor, now. I won't even go into the heartbreaking amount of money I lost beyond the fact that it sold for way less than what I paid five years ago, not to mention all the upgrades and the fat chunk of change I had originally saved to put down. Funny, when people in the building asked us why we were moving, somehow "we just can't afford it anymore" didn't seem to be an acceptable answer.

• Moving into the new place was challenging, what with the rain, the faulty security door key (other residents kept kicking out the rock we'd put in the door, which I actually think is a good thing), and the fact that it was Jon and I by ourselves. But it went surprisingly well.

We are so very thankful to my parents, my brother (who spent a good chunk of his visit helping load/unload stuff) and MFM and A. Without them, we would likely STILL be dragging ourselves and our things up and down elevators. And that's only a slight exaggeration.

Everything is still in boxes. I can't keep my autopilot from turning into my parents' driveway. It'll be difficult to go downtown and remember that we no longer live there. This is going to be a big adjustment. But we're looking forward to the future. And we're ready for what comes next.



*Mala was our realtor for only 90 of those 765 days.

if the first year is the toughest, we've totally got this

"Dude, can you believe that as of yesterday it's been a year since you moved here?"

"It doesn't feel like a whole year. More like six months."

"How ridiculous is it that we used to see each other for a weekend after being apart a month or two and that was totally fine, but now it's weird just to go a week without seeing each other?"

"Funny how things change."

"They say the first year of living together is the hardest."

"And people were concerned about us being practically on top of each other in such a little condo, too."

"I'm pretty surprised it's gone so smoothly, considering there's really no personal space."

"If anything, you think the place is too big. If I'm sitting on the chair you're wondering why I'm not next to you on the couch."

"Yeah, and when you're in the other room you seem so far away...I'll bet we could even make do with a studio!"

"Let's not push it."

streamlining

As you may know, my condo is on the market. And while it's not exactly going excellently (still isn't sold), we've had pretty steady potential-buyer traffic and a few offers, ridiculous as they were (If a buyer can only afford to pay 93% of his/her cash offer up front and promises the last 7% in five years, why the hell wouldn't s/he try to buy a home that's the 7% cheaper outright instead of toying with us?). We love the place; it's small but cute, and located in the juiciest, most touristy section of downtown Chicago. It also happens to be across the river from my former employer. The reason we're selling is because it is no longer affordable—three layoffs between the two of us, working part-time, taking a less-lucrative chance on a startup that will hopefully pay better later, the craptastic job market, the even more craptastic housing market and starting over across the country has put a pretty ginormous crack in the old nest egg. And from what my realtor says, the reason it's having any trouble selling is because people could get more space for the same price if they're willing to travel about 2 miles out of the way. So much for that awesome return I was expecting on the prime location.

So we're biding our time. And streamlining. Cutting nonessential expenses, being extremely choosy about attending events and cooking every meal at home. It's going pretty well, but tricky when you don't have an extravagant lifestyle to trim from and are fussy with your spending habits to start with. Of course I'm sweating over it—worrying is my favorite pastime, after all—and obsessing about streamlining takes up all hours not spent concentrating on work or watching several episodes of The Office in a row (Thanks, Apple, for making Netflix's View Instantly unlimited). 

This streamlining business has spilled over to all other aspects of life: cleaning out the pantry, tearing out what's interesting and recycling old magazines, storing work files in a more efficient way and reorganizing email labels in my five accounts. That last one includes all the posts I had up before Blogger labeled posts/comments emails with the post title, so I have hundreds of them personally tagged with titles. Getting rid of them one by one is making my head spin, but it takes my mind off the worry. In the process, I get to look back over all the stuff I wrote back when my life was so completely different, consisting of searching for parking (don't even have my car anymore), commuting three hours a day (now it's a 15-minute walk), talking on the phone with H (now he's usually in the same room) and not having a social life (well, not everything has changed very much).

Looking back at two tons of comments over the years is a reminder of  how supportive you guys are and that you always give great advice. Got any tips for streamlining/putting my mind at ease? I found a gray hair last week, and I could really do without finding any more.

listed

We finally listed the place on Monday, about a month after the realtor was hoping we would. But I think all the improvements were worth the delay and now if it languishes on the market I'll have fewer woulda/shoulda/couldas to kick myself about.

Tuesday morning H had to get the place ready at the last minute for a showing. He showered, set up the bed and all the "show" towels, vacuumed, cleaned the electric stovetop, cleared all the clutter and took out the garbage in about 25 minutes. He opened the door with the trash in hand to the realtor and prospective buyers. What a trooper.

This weekend he will be joining the Cadiz clan on a drive to Alabama for my brother's graduation. Nothing like a 12-hour road trip to get to know your girlfriend's parents. Any suggestions for a good book on tape?

hey nonbelievers: this is how we did it

A few weeks ago we went to suburbia to wait for H's stuff that never came, and we made the most of being unable to leave my parents' house all day by using my dad's tools and all that room to fashion a headboard for our place.

After a trip to the hardware store and the crack house, we had the materials: foam, plywood, fabric, staplegun, household glue and random measuring equipment.


H's sister had suggested we hang three panels of varying colors for more interest, so we originally had a large piece of plywood cut into thirds. But after we settled on a very diagonally patterned and texture-y fabric, we decided it'd be easier to do a single color in one large piece instead of three separates that we'd have to match up over rounded edges.


So we had to attach them back together and cross our fingers that the divisions weren't too obvious under the fabric.


I'm not that into glitz, but we agreed that a little shine never killed anyone. Plus I like the fact that what's normally the "wrong side" (the stitching of all those pieces together) is what makes the "right side" look cool.


We put the boards together with brackets. At this point it would have been really smart to add a layer of batting, as H's sister had originally suggested, because a) the fabric is a hundred diamond-shapes of silk sewn together—if it ripped, it'd be a mess b) the edges of the board wouldn't feel so hard and c) it'd help hide the divisions between the three panels underneath. Unfortunately we forgot about the batting until we were done and attempting to transport the thing (which was not easy, by the way. Maybe panels would have been a better option after all).


Stapling was good for channeling our angst about waiting around all day with no word on when his stuff was going to show. Especially when it didn't even end up coming.


I was a little over-enthusiastic about pulling the fabric taut. If we do this again, I'll have to take more zen breaths and relax.



It's always a good idea to make sure everything is level and matches up. I let H do the math.

I'm happy with the way it turned out. Maybe in the next place we'll get to do more home-improvement projects. My inner Martha is constantly straining at the leash and H has proven himself to be more than handy. However, I'm starting to think he's acquired those skills to justify his constant daydreaming about the ridiculous power tools he'd someday like to own. 

that white speck is the light at the end of the tunnel—or just an errant piece of drywall

H and I have been furiously working to get the condo ready to be listed since he got off the plane on March 24. This has included new appliances, a new wood floor, new furniture, making a headboard, and scouring every home-type store, student art gallery, hardware store and Target within 30 miles. We have made more trips to IKEA in the last three weeks than trips made in the combined lifetimes of all members of both of our families, and the condo's front-desk people are wondering if we're building an emporium in our unit because of the frequent requests for freight elevators and luggage carts to haul all this stuff up there. 

We even contacted artist friends to see if we might borrow a few pieces for a few months, but unfortunately the logistics didn't work out (however, I really liked a piece featuring a Rabbit that was painted by Kaiya's fiance, and was disappointed that we needed more of a vertical). It even got to the point where I bought a ginormous canvas and dug up my own oil paints in an attempt to come up with something useable. But then I remembered that any piece of art I've made has taken weeks or months, and we just don't have that kind of time (and I can't stand to look at my own stuff anyway). So we hung a mirror instead.

Our realtor came by last night and said things looked good. The only thing left to do is hang six framed photos in the hall—a 30-minute job that will likely take 4 hours with all the scooching and adjusting and laser-leveling.  We've been been procrastinating on it, probably because after that I'll have nothing to do but lose sleep over how long it will take the place to sell.

We had the good luck of finding an all-purpose contractor guy who happens to be married to my mom's coworker, and he finished all of our projects in record speed (it also really helped that the weather was craptastic all last week so he wasn't able to go to his 9-5 job and could work with us). So if anyone is looking to make home improvements in the Chicago area, e-mail me.

What's hilarious about this whole thing is that it's a TINY place with only four rooms. I have no idea how people with full-out houses complete with backyards and chimneys and shutters and all that other jazz do what it takes to get things moving in this kind of market. All I know is that we're going to think long and hard about the next place we get because renovating is not as fast and simple and cheap as it seemed when we started. But I do like the way it looks, even though it feels a little impersonal.

As a reward, I have been on a Guitar Hero fast since the Wii was delivered. H has already rocked it, and he even bought me my own guitar-controller, but I have stuck to my policy of delayed gratification and won't plug in until that last damn picture is hanging on the wall and our place is listed. Because, as we all know, once I get the fever, I'm not going to want to sleep, eat or work until I have conquered it. So I may as well get everything done first.

But once it's on, it's ON.

day off

After a month of working/hustling on this condo stuff every single day, we slept in, then watched two movies on TNT while waiting for the replacement microwave (the one we got looks like it had been dropped from a great height and the resulting dent won't even allow us to fit it into the space where we need to mount it).

All this sitting around is putting me into a panic; with all that go-go-go, doing this feels a little bit insane.

Currently, we're wondering if paying a professional to move our own furniture around, lending us art and a few tchotchkys for three months and recommending paint colors for a high price is really what it takes to sell a place, or if just doing the paint recommendations at a lesser price is better. Our realtor wanted us to get listed last week, but it's taking awhile longer to get everything together. In the time since we last checked, there are SEVEN other comparable units in our building up for sale, some of them on higher floors. So now I'm thinking using a certified stager is a better use of our money than doing it myself and guessing wrong. But I don't know for sure, because the women who came by for an assessment seemed to like all the stuff I had already picked out. Were they just kissing up so I'd sign with them or am I capable of choosing my own stuff? God only knows.

I can't wait until this is all over so I can get back to watching TNT all weekend without feeling guilty.

moving is tough on moms

This weekend, when my parents were helping me move stuff in and appliances out of the condo with the U-Haul and my dad and I were wrangling over the title of Most Bossiest, I said something to them in the heat of the moment that they needed to hear, but not from me. 

My mother was interjecting that when we move all my brother's stuff home from college in a few months, my dad and I better not be arguing like this. I replied that bickery situations like this were exactly why my little brother isn't moving home, so it wouldn't be an issue anyway.

My dad was in the heat of battle and probably strategizing his next argument for why his way of doing things was far superior to my less-experienced take. My mother, however, looked like someone just slapped her in the face. She stared at me in shock long enough for me to see her eyes well up with tears. The she snapped, "Good for him! That way he won't have to deal with all this nonsense." She got up and abruptly left the room.

My brother has told me on several occasions that he doesn't really want to leave Mobile for home in Chicago. This completely boggles my mind, because he's looking into working in the sports industry and Mobile doesn't even have any professional teams, while Chicago has more than most cities in the country. It's true that he's got some really good buddies down there, but he's still tight with his boys from high school, most of whom still live up here. There's some other poppycock about the weather, but I don't consider that a valid reason. Granted, living with my parents isn't always a picnic, but I've found that the benefits far outweigh any periodic negatives. Besides, as I've been telling him for years, I need him to come home because I'm moving—we are like a wrestling duo, and the time has come for him to tag me out of the ring because those two cannot be left alone unsupervised.

I have been in on the discussion my brother's not moving back here for months, but he hasn't said much to my mom other than that he hasn't decided. And he really hasn't. In the back of my mind I'm hoping for him to come home. I think my mom just assumed it, so it was a jolt to hear the contrary. I can still picture the expression on her face when she heard and that just makes me want to cry.

It's certainly not easy for a mom to say goodbye to her baby, knowing that things will never be quite the same. But no matter how old you are or how far away you're going, seeing your mother cry is one of the most heartbreaking things there is.

just when you think you've thought of everything

You wake up, late for work, only to realize that you have shower curtains but no shower-curtain RINGS.

Thank goodness H is resourceful.

Also, after less than 24 hours in the new place, I have a greater appreciation for my parents and all that I haven't had to worry about during the last few years since I was in my own apartment. Only having to do one-third of the chores will certainly be missed.

It's also really easy to take everyday things, such as a refrigerator, for granted. Until you have to improvise.

The new appliances don't come until Thursday.

Other than that, I think things are going well. Hopefully the place will start to come together and we can get on with finally being able to relax. But the fifteen-minute walk to work and seeing H in person pretty much whenever I want makes it all worth it.

H gets in today. Hopefully he'll stay awhile.

"The idea of this would actually make me want to live in California."

"So that's all it would take? A full-blown Microfarm? Why didn't you say so!"

"WITH solar panels?"

"Argh!!! You got me. I'll be on a plane on Monday."

Maybe the Easter bunny will bring me some lamps

For all of you wondering about the Great Move, here's probably WAY more updates than you care for:

• Tenants are out. I got the keys, the place is getting cleaned as we speak.
• Ordered new appliances (stainless is a must in this market) 
• Got an exorbitant price quote on hardwood; getting a second opinion. However, I kind of really want it. But I don't want to have to pay for it with my teeth. (Perhaps that expression only works in Hindi.)
• Bought barstools with the same style of stitching as the couch at a pretty good deal—no exchange/no return—proceeded to puncture a hole in the back of one with the door of my car on the way home. The store stuck to its policy. I nearly cried.
• After looking at three bazillion comforter sets, I finally chose one (blue w/ brown accents) that has a very subtle leaf design. (Thanks for the coupon, H's sister!)
• Found a west elm rug for the living room that has a similar leaf pattern (look at me tying things together subconsciously)
• Will be buying a nightstand, coffee table and tv console today after work. (fingers crossed)
• Stumped trying to figure out what kind of desk* will work in a space like this:

From the door to the heating post is 32", the post sticks out 14" and from that corner to the wall is 26.5". The line on the carpet is where the edge of the bed will likely be, approximately 38" from the parallel post-wall. Yes, I realize how ridiculous this space is.

• H's shipped stuff will probably be delayed; trying to find something for him to do in the empty place waiting all day for the furniture/appliances—perhaps assemble furniture?
• Trying to figure out which accent color will look good on the wall behind a blue bedspread and dark brown nightstand. 
• Trying to find decent-priced metal-ish pendant lights to hang from/replace this awkward-looking track light over the kitchen bar:

• Packing. What exactly defines "essential" anyway?
  
• Moving furniture in/old appliances out in a U-Haul excursion with my dad (cause for stress in itself, as we are both made of the same stubborn, know-it-all DNA, which only flares up when dealing with one another) on Saturday.
  

Who knew getting a handful of furniture to make a place "show" ready would be so damn frustrating? If I were just shopping for us, this would be a lot more fun. But trying to pick stuff I like that'll appeal to a variety of buyers, as well as work wherever we end up living next is downright mind-boggling.

On top of that, I have to find a hotel in Mobile for all of us to stay at for my brother's graduation, a task we talked about doing months ago that has somehow slipped through the cracks. And work. Gotta find time for that, too. Oh, and that little holiday thing going on this weekend, too. Perhaps the family wouldn't mind joining in on some freight-elevator rides to celebrate?

*any suggestions would be greatly appreciated

And I will neverevereverever do it again.

After nine months, I finally managed to miss the bus. On a day I woke up earlier than usual! (Figures.)

Standing on the corner at 7:03 am, I wasn't sure what to do. My first instinct was to cut through some back yards and try to catch the bus as it came back around out of our subdivision. But I think I hesitated too much because as I headed that way, I heard it rumble past. Then I tried to head toward the main entrance to our neighborhood, and watched it sail away on the other side of the elementary school—there was no way I would have been able to cross that soccer/football/tag/ring-around-the-rosy field in time. 

I had heard that there was another bus, at around 7:30 am. But the one I normally get is the only route that passes through my neighborhood. There is a busy street that separates our subdivision from another one, so I figured I'd head over that way. Unfortunately, I have no idea what route it takes over there because my bus picks those people up before they get to me and drop them off after I get off. 

I had my Pumas on, so I figured I'd give the 3.5-mile walk a try. I've always been curious as to how long it'd take me to hoof it, it wasn't terribly freezing out this morning and I do a lot of walking downtown as it is, so it probably wouldn't be an issue. So I set off, holding a single-serving pizza box with leftovers from last night's dinner. 

The thing about walking in the city is that there's so much to look at, you don't realize you're exerting any effort. But trudging past the field used in the header for this blog (which is a barren expanse of dirt at this time of year) wasn't nearly as interesting as downtown Chicago. I plodded along. I didn't realize until it was too late that the flimsy cardboard pizza box was coming open at the side and after a thump, I saw my lunch face down on the concrete. So I had to take a detour to find a garbage can.

I got about 3/4 of a mile away and was waiting on the corner for the WALK signal when my bus pulled up to the light. I guess it pays to be friendly, because my driver was on his way back from dropping off my normal crew and recognized me. He waved. I said Screw walking, and skirted through the cars at the light to get on. I had to ride through the entire route, so now I have a good backup plan in case I miss the bus again. The weird thing is that I got on the bus about 40 minutes later than I usually do, but because I didn't have to wait long for a train, I got to my office only ten minutes later than I usually do.

Too bad I'm moving to the city in two weeks, after which the lessons learned on this particular excursion will be completely useless. And so it goes.

milestone: year 3

This weekend I went to dinner with ri and kaiya to catch up. It's been quite a while since we've had quality time together, and ri said something to the effect of You know, I feel like I find out more about you from reading your blog than from sitting across from you at dinner like this. I wasn't sure if I should be sad or glad about that. Granted, it's easy to wander off on a tangent while discussing marriageable characteristics portrayed on The Bachelor. But more importantly our time together is so limited that we often spend it all just getting everyone up to speed on what's happening in our respective lives.

I feel like I need to have a catching up of sorts here, what with all the crazy crap going on that I haven't had time to explain. Let me start with how I missed the third anniversary of this blog last Friday. Which is surprising even to me.

Normally, I post snippets of what people might have missed. I'm too exhausted for that. And here's why: 

Back in 2004 I started working in the dungeon. I was living with my parents and sleeping in same bed I had grown up sleeping in. And while the 36-mile commute wasn't the best—what with the parking and all—I felt a lot better pulling into their quiet cul-de-sac at 4 a.m. than I would have parking on a Chicago city street and walking alone to my own apartment. Plus, I had the whole house to myself because when I was awake, they were asleep or at work. And eventually, the steep discount on rent allowed for more frequent trips to see H.

The dungeon thing was a two-year gig with an option to stay on. Certain factors indicated that I had a pretty good shot, so I purchased a tiny piece of high-rise property that would turn my commute into a seven-minute walk or a $4 cab ride. But because long-term dungeon was not a done deal, I allowed the person who had been renting it to stay there until I found out, even though the rent did not cover all of the mortgage and assessments.

Then the economy started to turn. The dungeon didn't work out after all and I was done by New Year's Day 2007. I didn't find a full-time right away, so I was freelancing and wrangling with tenants. (Apparently, sympathy and being considerate are traits that successful landladies do not have.) And even though I technically had no holes in my resume, I wasn't eligible for unemployment compensation and started freaking out about covering the bills. I was told employers would be scrambling to snatch me up when they saw I had a big-name dungeon on my resume, but the industry on the whole was hit very hard and there were few takers and a lot of talent to compete with.

So I visited Miami. Then Detroit. I courted people in New York and Los Angeles. And then I snagged a full-time gig in Chicago. I was relieved that I wouldn't have to sell my place and could still be local to deal with tenant drama. And live with my mom. And still be able to afford plane tickets to LAX.

Then I got laid off on my birthday. Our last day wasn't until November, so there was a cushion to figure out what to do next. 

Looking for a job and not knowing when or how much the next paycheck would be during most of 2007 was not fun. The stress brought on some health issues, too. So I decided to make the leap and join a startup business. Unfortunately, while the tiny high-rise condo is not far from the startup, the place and all of its high-end niceties is a bit out of my current price range. Especially now that the current tenants have broken their lease and I have no rent to count on.

So this is the plan: 

• The current tenants are moving out next week 
• H is moving here the week after that
• We will stay at the place, renovate it ("Um, stainless-steel appliances and hardwood floors are STANDARD now, Cadiz") and put it on the market—Hopefully this will be my absolute last stint as landlady. Ever.
  
• Instead of paying 5K for three months to have professionals "stage" the place with rented furniture and accessories, I'm trying to buy stuff that will make the current digs look nice and can also work with wherever we end up moving after (when?) it sells. 
• Hopefully H will have an easier time landing a full-time gig than I did.
  
  

All of the above has pretty much overtaken my thoughts (and kept me up at night) for the last few weeks. I'm extremely excited to be in the same zip code with H. It's pretty much the only thing that's keeping me sane. But it's a big step for us; this weekend he's selling most of his stuff. I think I might be more sad that he's parting with it than he is.

Tonight our startup company is having a launch party to celebrate little guys everywhere (but mostly just us). Things are going pretty smoothly and hopefully in time we can build a bigger and even stronger business. The newspaper gave us a small mention, so that's a good start. I'll be toasting to new beginnings.

But that's not all there is to celebrate. Three years of blogging! I'd just like to thank every one who reads what I write here, especially those whom I don't get to see or talk with often. It means a lot to me that you take time out of your day to stop by and comment, and you always give great advice. You guys are the best.

Much love, 

Cadiz