When I Grow Up

Don't get me wrong, I love my career. What is there not to love about heart-wrenching stories of grief, illness and poverty? Sometimes I find myself considering other professions. There are days I wish I was a florist, other days I long to work on an orchard; but of all the "imaginary" professions I could take up, photographer tops the list. The Chicago Photography Center let me live out this fantasy this past weekend. Looking forward to learning more later this summer as I will take a more extensive class. Better photos coming to a blog near you in August, 2009.

Mom Behind the Camera

Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp

Dang 832 Home, you are good. Never mind that it was burned. How flippin apropos.

Jonesin

I've identified the Oak Park Joneses. They are a family that live a few blocks from us and I admit I am trying to keep up. It's a fruitless chase. They make their own granola (how Oak Park), they do not use paper-towels (wasteful), they find new uses for broken crayons, metal hangers and broken pieces of glass. If city ordinances would allow, I'm sure they would have a flock of sheep that they would tend, using the wool to knit sweaters for residents of the local homeless shelter. They crave intellectualism and likely have a book shelf of thought provoking reads meant to inspire reflection and change. Who is Danielle Steel? They revel in their own cleverness and rightfully so. I watch it all unfold daily on their beautifully written family blog. I tune in with a sadistic hunger...yearning to be so whatever it is they are. We bumped into the "Jones" family at the farmer's market last week. Her children with their tree-hugger-chic tousled hair and broad smiles. Motivated, I grab a bunch of organic rhubarb. Plans start to unfold as I envision a summer full of inventive recipes using only the most in-season produce. Two can play at this game. In all honesty, as much as I love to hate the Joneses, they really are a mindful family and I enjoy the challenge they unknowingly provide. Next week, garden pea soup with morel cream and garden tools made out of old milk cartons...yeah right.

Unfiltered

I love that Ella is free of inhibition; her Id decidedly in the driver's seat. She hugs without hesitation, she dances with gusto, she attacks her food with dirty, sticky fingers. She'll shriek with joy in quiet libraries, she'll pull at her mother's hair to indicate that she doesn't want to be put down. No concern about appearances or expectations and it is incredibly refreshing to witness. I wonder when the outside world will start having greater influence on her actions; when that Super Ego will grab the wheel. I hope to help support her as she explores that delicate balance between being thoughtful and conscientious while still voicing her opinions and embracing her square peg qualities. It took years for me to find that balance and if truth be told, I'm still searching. I can tell you that my thirties has brought me closer. Perhaps it's age, perhaps it's motherhood.
Ella, I promise to stick by you as you figure it all out. If only it was something I could pass on, like curly hair or blue eyes. If only it was that easy. In the mean time, hold on to the unfiltered Ella as long as possible. I love seeing that light shine in your eyes. There's plenty of time for appearances later...much later.

Click on Photo - Pay No Attention to the Shadow Dancing in the Background

Memorial Day Festivities

As of today, Ella is decidedly not a fan of sirens, horns or anything coming out of a musket. We managed a small wave to the proud, brave members of the Oak Park police and fire departments. Jerry and I busily looked for the familiar faces that have come to our aid in the last year...gulp. Our first call was to report missing persons (Ella and I) as we decided to surprise Daddy at the eL and left the home open, dinner on the stove. A slight miscalculation and Jerry beat us home, greeted by a strangely empty house. Thirty minutes later and a call to 911 gave us a story to laugh at later, right Jer? There was also the call one frigid morning this winter. Ella locked in a warm, running car with my keys and cell phone inside. Mommy dancing outside her window to not only provide entertainment but to keep warm. I digress. Luckily Jerry and I escaped recognition today. The parade featured local businesses as well as community groups. I had to suppress a chuckle as my future walked by: MOPs (Mothers of Preschoolers). Perhaps I should start my own group: Mothers of Excitable and Silly Sixteen-month olds (MESS). Ella rocked out to the Proviso East Marching Band. I felt the need to cover her eyes as the drum section gyrated their snares five feet from our heads. This is not your mother's marching band. Seriously, we worried if our plumes were bent and our spats were tarnished. We collected candy which Jerry and I quickly pocketed and Ella walked away with a toothbrush...nice marketing Dr. We hope by July 4th we're ready for another parade. This time we may be in Glen Ellyn. Great, a whole new police department we hope have forgotten our faces. Much easier as it was the early nineties. Just kidding mom.

Inauguration Day

Memorial Day weekend ushers in the opening of the Oak Park Farmer's Market season. In typical fashion, we bypass the rows of fresh produce and head right to the donuts. To state that these donuts are unlike any other, that they define Oak Park, that they transform a town's inhabitants come summer is an understatement. Perhaps it is the ambiance. The parking lot of Pilgrim Church is a happy grid lock of strollers, dog walkers, and members of the local bluegrass band. Orderly stacks of herbs, plants and fresh baked breads mingle with crates of rhubarb. Card tables and chairs are set up for early morning lounging. The 10-15 member band, a staple at the market, strumming the strings on their banjos and fiddles in unison as if they've been reading from the same sheet music for years but playing with Saturday morning informalities. Pure enjoyment on the faces on all those who are there. The Farmer's Market is the very definition of Oak Park summer. I'm so glad it's here. Ella coasted in her stroller to the farmer's market; towed by Jerry's bicycle. Nervous Nelly (me) watched on trying my hardest to filter my concerns. Proud to report that we escaped with no injury aside from a necessary sugar high.

33 Candles

I'm pretty sure I didn't blow out my birthday candles today and wish to visit Ella's pediatrician...AGAIN. I'm positive I didn't wish for my little girl to have a perforated ear drum, ugh. And...I'm almost certain I didn't wish to be overwhelmed with feeling like a horrible, bad mommy. Good news, she is o.k. The weird thing is she has been o.k. No forecasting this one. We're pointing the finger at her chronic sniffles and threatening to discontinue all dairy. Her diet is now limited to rice, water and bananas. This kid would be a shoo-in for "Survivor". For her sake, I guess I'll have to hoard my birthday cake.

Feast for the Eyes

This weekend, in an effort to kick off the summer right, Ella, Jerry and I paid a visit to the Taste of Glen Ellyn. Ella loved every minute of this overdose to the senses.
Where else can one experience:
1. Aerosmith blaring over cut-rate speakers, while mouthy kids from the "other side of the tracks" (you know the kind, eyes rimmed with black liner - guys and painted on jeans - girls) stand impatiently for the tilt-a-whirl?
2. Guys smelling of Old Spice and Kentucky Gentleman shelling out $20, trying to win their hopeful date a misshapen fuchsia stuffed bear?
3. Kids whose Taste of Glen Ellyn fare consists only of things fried (Ella)?

It was as if time stood still since my last visit to the Taste. Same kids, same music, same great way to welcome in the summer.

Garage Sale 101

Tutoring needed for beginner in garage-saling methods. No experience with bargaining, setting limits and steering clear of the impractical.

Just bought $4 worth of fabric scraps for projects I will never get to. $4 of material that will take up space in my already minuscule, overextended closet that will act as a constant reminder of projects left undone. Darn me. Should have bought a latte.

Must not leave my instincts unchecked. Must not let the idea of recycling old treasures and doing so economically get the best of me. Must get fanny pack and a roll of coins. Must get help.

Who's That Girl?

Mimi's hallway is a "Who's Who" of beloved family members. Pictures of Ella's complete extended family are framed and serve as a welcome for all that enter her home. Time is often spent with Ella examining these photos and identifying her loved ones. She is able to easily identify her father in a photo taken on September 6, 2003, but often pauses at the woman in the white wedding gown outside of the Garfield Park Conservatory. Who is this fresh-faced girl grinning from ear to ear? Who is this person with make-up and hair that is carefully styled? I assure her it is her Mama. She does not appear convinced. She has never met that woman. Mama is the person that spends two minutes in front of the mirror each morning, shower-wet hair pulled into a bun. Mama is the one that leaves a ripped contact in her eye for eight hours because she doesn't take the time to fish it out. Mama uses Ella's Eucerin as lip gloss in the morning (tres chic).

Shortcuts

Why bother with the niceties? How bourgeois. Growing weary of the spoon, Ella finds a time saving method.

Ella Ran Away with the Spoon

Ella and cutlery have been officially introduced. They are still in the process of getting acquainted.

Milestones

I admit, I've been Horrible (note the capital "H") about documenting your milestones. I can give you a guesstimate of when you first sat independently. I could give you a ballpark as to when you started eating solids. I could venture a guess as to what you weighed when you blew out your first candle. I've been so diligent about recording the daily minutiae that I've completely neglected the biggies. So to satisfy the urgings of your Mimi, I offer you a snapshot on what you are doing today, May 11, 2009:
1. Walking, running, meeting rocky inclines and steep hills without fear.
2. Dancing - a soft-shoe shuffle to be more exact.
3. Singing - you will sing yourself to sleep.
4. Pretend - you will stir pots, fix your hair, dust, and carry a purse (where in the world did you witness such typically feminine acts?)
5. Sign Language - "more" is certainly a favorite, along with "water", "milk", "eat", "kisses" and "hot". You have also created your own signs (not currently recognized by ASL). Wagging your finger like a guest of Maury Povich signifies, "oh no you didn't". Pointing to your eye means "I love you".
6. Defiance - you are aware of your naughtiness at times and relish in it.
7. Sociability - you seek out friendships, give hugs to strangers (although exclusive to kiddos your age) and play games to initiate interactions with anyone, everyone.
You've been doing a lot of these things for a while, I just haven't been the best at documenting. Forgive me dear girl...I promise to improve!

Members Only

On January 24, 2008 I joined the ranks of Mommidom. This club is certainly not exclusive, being a member has it's fair share of challenges but the benefits can be undeniably kick "a". The club does not have a hand-shake, as far as I'm privy to. Membership is simply confirmed with a gentle smile or knowing look of appreciation, sympathy or sometimes both. As simple as it was to join, membership has inspired me in more ways then I could have guessed.
This morning as I sat down to brunch with the two mothers in our lives, I got to thinking about how wonderful they both are. "Momosas" in hand, Jerry and I toasted them briefly as Ella teetered precariously standing on a perch of a highchair. Even given the time and the ability to concentrate, words could never express how grateful we are to be born to them. How they both did it, I don't know. Ella, I write this post so that you are aware of the awesome line of female blood that runs through your veins. Your Mimi raised two children single-handedly since I was six years old. She managed to maintain our home, lawn, mortgage, meals, homework, music lessons, discipline, doctor's appointments, sports and discipline, all while teaching JUNIOR HIGH KIDS full-time. She did this with style and the fortitude of an ox (sorry Mom, couldn't think of a better metaphor). Your Lola came to this country in the early 70s. New to the states, it's culture and forays and newly married she became pregnant. Thousands of miles away from her own mother she gave birth and started her parenthood journey. Soon after your uncle was born, he was diagnosed with a very serious illness. Critical surgeries were conducted in a foreign hospital, discussions with doctors had in a foreign language. The faith and strength she had were undeniable. Your Lola has experienced great loss, events that may have crippled others but throughout life she found happiness and sought out joys. It is with great awe that we salute you both today. We don't do it often enough. Thank you for serving as such a wonderful example of what it means to be a mother, a woman. I am so proud to be among the ranks.

Mission Accomplished: Trip Report

We left for Puerto Rico eight days ago with an unclear mission. Goals were vague and revolved around a little sun, some pina coladas and a cleared mental state. Detailed itineraries, typical of previous travels, were non-existent. Regardless, much was accomplished. Our trip began in El Yunque, Puerto Rico's rain forest. We stayed in a three bedroom, mountain-top guesthouse, Casa Flamboyant. The current owner remained well marinated in Gordon's vodka for the duration of our visit and provided details of this home's colorful history. Former guests included artist Maplethrop and his cronies. It was also the proposed setting for a South American super-model reality show and backdrop for an adult film. This last week it was host to two weary parents in search of a little adventure...minus the cameras. We were lucky to keep company with several of the mountain's residents including one who led us on a seven hour hike to remote waterfalls. Various fruits and leaves said to cure everything from kidney stones to ringworm helped sustain us as we traversed the rain forest. Another resident, Hernan, shared his secrets to making rice, beans and plantains (the Puerto Rican triumvirate) as well as fried pork chops. An expected highlight of our trip, surf lessons, didn't disappoint. We learned terms such as "goofy foot" and we walked away addicted. This Midwest duo had some abilities on the boards - no joke. For the first time in ages I felt "cool". After three hours in the water, two wipe outs, emerging sunburn and mysterious bruising, we started to feel decidedly "uncool" and capped off the day with Coronas. We explored beautiful Viegues off the eastern cost of Puerto Rico. A convertible jeep was our mode of transport as we off-roaded to several desolate beaches. We explored the bioluminescent-bays in the moonlight (as close to an acid trip as this straight-laced girl will ever get). We ate mufungo, we salsaed until way past our bedtime and most importantly, we were able to reconnect with the old "us". The day before we came home a sense of sadness came over me. Did we do everything, be everything that we needed to be during this short week? What did we have left to discuss, to experience before we entered into the chaotic world of self-employment, business trips and deadlines? Did Jerry and I accomplish all that we needed to accomplish? Yes. The vacation met all expectations and then some. I return home with great anticipation to get back to life. I look forward to bath times with Ella, mid-week grocery runs, even seeing my clients. And isn't that exactly the function of vacations? To provide a break but to also help us appreciate the day to day. Jerry, you are an amazing travel companion and the best life companion. I know, a bit sappy to put on a site that is public domain, but I don't care. Looking forward to our next vaca Love.

Load of Laundry

There's nothing like starting a load of laundry after returning home from an extended sojourn. Sick as it sounds, it is one of my favorite parts of a vacation. Continuing to live out of a suitcase, to me, is living in a state of denial, a vacation purgatory. Time to face the music of the day to day...time to add the fabric softener.