Happy Birthday from Chicago to Vienna!

Happy freakin' 30th Birthday to my cousin Dana, who is now officially VERY, VERY OLD!!

(I've been waiting YEARS to say that.)

Love,
Jordan

Thanksgiving

We loaded up the car on Thanksgiving morning to spend the long weekend at Matt's parents' house out in Libertyville (just under an hour away). It was like all those times we came out from San Francisco and stayed at the house with them, with the exception of the fact that our car was in the driveway and I knew my way around town better than I did before we moved here.

It was an all-American weekend. Big Thanksgiving dinner with Matt's whole family sitting around the table, and the kids being thankful for things like "trucks" and "when someone helps me zip up my coat". Baxter experienced a weekend with his grandparents that felt more like our childhood than we typically provide; things like a trip to the hardware store to buy bird seed, mouse traps, and more lights for the front shrubs, and a drive with his grandparents at night to see all the houses that are already decorated for Christmas. He was as proud and excited as I've ever seen him when he helped string lights on the front bushes and then turned on the lights to surprise us. Matt and I felt like we were on vacation - once we walked into the house, the kids headed straight for their grandparents and the play room, and we got a real break for the weekend. (And thanks, Oma, for all the laundry you helped us with!) Lyle wasn't feeling too well much of the time, but in some ways it was the perfect time to lie on the couch with a feverish child draped over you; it is more restful to do nothing at someone else's house than our own.

We also had fun times with two of Matt's best friends from his childhood who were in town with their families to visit their parents. (This is what prompted us to think of staying up there ourselves, so we could see everyone more.) Seeing Matt and his friends out in the big backyard playing football and soccer with the four kids was really sweet. One very nice thing about being in Chicago is that some of our greatest friends come back here to see their families a few times a year so we are getting to reconnect with them more frequently.

And did I mention that we had Bay Area-like weather all weekend? Sunny and in the 60s, we were out playing without coats every day. Winter is due to arrive later this week, but that's okay; it was such a treat to have a beautiful weekend.

An Officer and a Gentleman

Today I had the distinct, um, experience of watching a bizarre interaction between a 30-something yuppie mom and a Chicago cop. The mother, a willowy blonde with two boys around ages 6 and 8, approached a table full of cops in our local coffee shop, and asked them apologetically if one of them would stop by her table for just a moment and say something that would basically scare her boys into a ceasefire at home. Turns out they've been fighting like...brothers. The cop, 50 years old and with a perfect old school Chicago accent, looks at her, offers his handcuffs, and says, "You tried mace?"

Digging a Hole

Thanks to Christopher Tassava, internets surfer extraordinaire, I am now aware of a Google application that will show me where I "go to arrive if [I] dig a very deep straight infinitous hole on Earth". (Come for the map, stay for the grammar.)

Should I choose to begin digging a hole on the street in front of 1711 W. Fletcher St., I will end up deep in the Indian Ocean just west of the coast of Australia. Not exactly comforting, but at least I can swim.

Dig it.

1st Chicago Birthday Party

As you can see from this photo, Baxter has fallen in with the right crowd. They're nuts, every last one of 'em. (And here I'll ask you to click on that photo above and just look at those faces! Tell me they aren't hilarious.) Today's birthday party was a smashing success. Baxter requested a "science party" and wanted "centers" like they have in class. So, we gamely set out a few centers (dinosaurs, insects, the senses, weather) around the house, just a few books and puzzles for each one. But the real fun was in the experiments. These 6 & 7 year olds crowded around the dining room table for all kinds of baking soda/vinegar/citric acid-type stunts. I loved looking around at all these rapt faces (white, black, Asian, Hispanic) who were so interested and curious about everything. This really is a great age: they are funny and smart but without the snarky attitude of older kids. And I couldn't help but appreciate that they are now old enough to have a lot more impulse control!

It sure was different having no girls for the first time - I felt significantly out-numbered. Also, this was our first drop-off party; a couple parents opted to stay but they remained in another room talking to each other for the full 2.5 hours and never even entered the party area, so we pulled it off on our own. This was not difficult. It was also notable that while in previous years we've known all the kids really well, this year we'd only had a couple of them over to play before. Some of them I'd never even seen! But despite all of that, Matt and I both felt that it was our favorite party so far. The kids are just so much easier at this age, and it's such fun to joke around with these big guys - I like this big kid stuff, and I can see that Burley draws some great kids. Baxter really is lucky.

Chicago Girls Play it Fast and Loose

Like, oh. my. god. I unpacked my 6-year old's backpack this evening and found this teddy bear inside. Fairly certain it did not come from our house (aka "Boyville"), I questioned Baxter. "Oh, that's a birthday present. From Trinity." Aha, of course. Trinity. The same little girl who sent him home with a pipe cleaner bracelet - made with two colors twisted together, a sign of true love, I'm sure - and some sort of feather concoction that just screamed, "I'm studying Native American history in school." She really knows how to go all out when that special someone celebrates his birthday.

This comes on the heels of a random declaration by two 3rd grade girls who approached our babysitter to say that they think Baxter is "really cute" and they "like to watch him on the playground". Yes, you heard it right: third grade girls.

So while I could simply say that girls are a lot more sophisticated than they used to be, or conclude that I was more shy at their age, I've chosen to declare Chicago girls "fast and loose" because, well, it's a lot more fun.

But the good news is, they have extremely good taste.

Back in the Groove

Upon leaving San Francisco, I felt severely disoriented in a way I have never experienced. I only wish there were a hidden camera videotape available to show you all: if there were, you would see me standing in front of the "Departures" screen in the United terminal at SFO, simply staring for a very long while, unable to determine if I was going to Chicago or San Francisco. At the gate, I watched people and wondered if they were San Francisco natives or just going there on vacation, forgetting that I was already there and that "going home" meant Chicago. As the plane was close to touching down in this place where I was to see my family again, I found myself looking out the window in search of the ocean. This level of disorientation was unsettling, to say the least.

However, it didn't take long to find terra firma. It would be impossible to be unsure about where I live or still feel that half my heart is sipping a latte up in some palm tree in another city when I am trying to squeeze in a trip to the grocery store to pick up cupcakes for my older son's birthday party at school on the way to my younger son's speech therapy appointment, only to find that said younger son has stepped in dog poop and I have to spend an extra 10 minutes scrubbing it out of what seems like the entirety of the back seat. I then rush off to the store, still sure we both smell like dog shit, grab 30 semi-frozen cupcakes and drop them off on the front porch of my house because I don't have time to even bring them in. Luckily, my husband works from home and can retrieve them later and bring them to school, so off I go to the appointment. At some point, I started laughing to myself about the fact that obviously I am no longer on vacation, and have returned to my regular, fantastically glamourous life. Toto, we're not at the Flood Mansion anymore.

But really, what fun to be home, and on Baxter's 6th birthday! The boy was all happiness and sweetness, and the highlight for me was spending over 2 hours sitting on the floor playing, making Lego creations with him and sneaking glances at his top tooth that is loose and turned at a snaggly angle, leaving a big gap already. I have loved my baby days with these boys, but I am really seeing the fun of having a big kid; he couldn't help but snicker when I screwed up the police station we were making, and continued to chuckle to himself for a while. My kid can make fun of me now! I love it. He casually threw out the phrase "shut up" just to see what would happen (and because he is smart, he did not experiment with it on me, but rather himself!) and a fabulous conversation ensued. There is a comaraderie that exists with an older child that is really wonderful.

So I am reoriented, and while I can't wait for my next visit to San Francisco for the holidays, I am content to be here and continue to build this life we've begun. It's off to a great start.

Going Home

For the past four days here in San Francisco I've been replaying the tape over and over. "We've settled in well", "Yes, he loves his school", "Chicago is a fabulous city", "It's so wonderful to see the kids with all their cousins", "My practice is going great", "Our quality of life is better", "I'm happier there". All of it true. I'm glad we moved. I like living in Chicago. In so many very important ways, it's better for us.

And yet this was my home for almost ten years. The formative years of my marriage and career. Where my children were born. Where most of my family is. Where I have old, dear friends; I am known to them and don't have to spend half our time together explaining who I am and why. I can drive around San Francisco without a map or even having to think about where I'm going. When I walk into a coffee shop I recognize the staff and note that one of them is uncharacteristically friendly and register surprise, wondering about this apparent personality transformation. I dodge a great many people, pretending not to see them, as I talk intently with the friends I have chosen to see on this brief visit.

I recognize passersby whose names I never knew; even the homeless people are so familiar to me that I hear their voices and know their words before they speak to me. A brilliant pink sunset streaking its way over the ocean makes me stop the car just to take it in; how I could've forgotten what the light and sky here look like I do not know. I see a stone building that was my home only a few months ago, and yet in its front windows stand the back of a huge ominous-looking television screen and a tall wooden bookcase. Don't they know we don't watch TV? And that the big bookcase belongs back in the office, not the living room? How will the boys watch the garbage truck out those windows on Friday morning? How will I wave to them from down below when I'm going to work?

It was in this context that I have haunted former client's homes, my old office, and Golden Gate Park this weekend. Had meals at my favorite places and reconnected with family and friends. Stopped in for an appointment with the hair dresser I went to for all of those years here. And danced tippsily with friends at Liesl's wonderful wedding reception. For stretches it felt like I had never left and at other times I was a near stranger in this place where my own full life seems to have continued on without me.

And so as this last day has worn on, the melancholy has set in. One place still too new to feel like "home", the other place always a home to me but never to feel the same. If home is where the heart is, then my heart is split down the middle tonight with one half many hundreds of miles away, nestled in a sweet little blue house with my sleeping family and the other half perched happily up high in a palm tree on Dolores Street, drinking good coffee and watching the moon rise over the San Francisco skyline.

Feeling Blue...

...blue STATE, that is!

Our little precinct/ward/district/city/county/state can boast:

Blue Governor

Blue Senators

Blue Representatives

Blue State Senator

Blue State Rep

Blue Attorney General

Blue Treasurer

Blue Secretary of State

Blue Comptroller

Blue Appeals Court

Blue Cook County Board

In fact, we're so Blue, 10% went for the Green gubernatorial candidate. (Isn't it great that the adjective for Governor starts with "guber"? I love English!)

Sadly, this makes my vote feel just as useless as it felt in California — them Dems can trot out whoever they'd like and know that they're going to carry the day, so they don't need worry about things like, yaknow, progressive politics.

Happily, I was surprised that I got to vote on a measure imploring Congress to bring our troops home, just like all my cool friends in San Francisco who got to vote on Prop J.

And in an homage to sportswriter Peter King, here's a factoid that may interest only me: Thanks to Chicago's 3000+ taxing authorities (library districts, school districts, mosquito abatement districts, fire services districts: the mind reels), we voted not 100 yards away from the polling place for another district. While we residents of the 40th precinct of the 32nd ward filled in our ballot in Burley's basement cafeteria, residents of the 36th precinct did the same in the field house across the playground. Amazing!

As Sweet as it Gets

We were lucky enough to have our friends Kevin and Jess here again all weekend from St. Paul. What a treat! Matt and I gladly took to the air mattresses in the living room to make them as comfortable as possible. On Sunday morning, Lyle came down and read stories with Daddy, all cuddled up in bed. It was about the sweetest sight I've ever seen.

Fall Trees, Pt. II

Matt pointed out that the trees are much more genuinely autumnal now - that is, half bare and half brown. So here's a later fall photo for you.

Going...back? Home?

This Thursday I will have the great pleasure of returning to San Francisco for the first time since moving. I am very excited to see family, friends, colleagues, and former clients, I must say. I'm going by myself for a friend's wedding reception party and am making a long weekend of it. After the intensity of these past few months setting up our life here, I am more than ready for some time away on my own. I have booked myself with fun from start to finish and can't wait! Truly, I'll be running from the south bay to the north bay to the city like a crazy fool, but I'll be alone (oh, blissful solitude!), en route to fun at all times, with my iPod going in my parents' Prius, so how can I go wrong?? Regular readers won't be surprised that I have arranged to hit most of my favorite restaurants and coffee shops over the course of the four days.

I'm curious to see what it will feel like to be back in San Francisco after these 5 months - will it seem like I never left? Strangely unfamiliar? Small, compared to Chicago? Will I suddenly feel the homesickness I haven't really experienced? We shall see. All I know is, I'm going and I can't wait to get there.

A Growing Concern

I wouldn't have believed it possible from an almost-6-year old. A teenager, yes, you hear the stories about rapid growth all the time. But in first grade? I had no idea.

At the end of the summer, I bought a bunch of new pants on sale for Baxter. He tried on size 6 but was swimming in them so I got him lots of size 5s. So far so good, right? Not four weeks later, he came downstairs one morning and those jeans were floods - I mean, the change in length from the week before left us snickering in our coffee mugs. Thankfully, I had bought a couple pairs of the next size as well, so I just high-tailed it upstairs and pulled out some jeans that didn't make him look like, well, a goof.

Here we are, literally another four weeks later. I watched Baxter pull on those size 6 jeans this morning, tugging them up and sucking in his already stick-thin stomach to do the clasp. I found this strange until I looked down at his feet: honest to God, the new pants are already noticeably short. Just when we thought he couldn't possibly get any taller or thinner.

I have decided to only buy his pants at the Salvation Army from now on because at this rate we figured out that if he has two pairs of jeans, we are spending about $4 a week (and that's on sale!). We should figure out what's costing us more: Baxter's pants or Lyle's diapers. I bet Bax will win.