Do You Live Here?!

by Cathy

I had the luxury of having a girls night out recently. It's funny but although our kids are getting older and need us less, we have somehow become less available to our friends. So this night? This was rare and much needed and we were all enjoying each other's company until....

RING RING (K's cell phone goes off)

Below is her side of the convo as heard by us:
"Hi sweetie, you okay?...OK what is it....a what?...honey you know I'm not home, why are you calling me? Ask your father...he's the one who's there!...Goodbye!"

Exasperated, she hung up the phone. "WHY is she calling me about going to a sleepover when I'm not even home?"

We all nodded in agreement and proceeded to share our stories about when something similar had happened to us. We laughed, we commiserated, we vented. And then, this happened:

RING RING (K's cell phone goes off, again.)
"Hey babe, what's up?...What do you mean, what time?...Why don't you ask her?...Just talk to her and ask her what time...I don't know, you're there...I'm not...figure it out!" She clicked her husband off the line.

"Oh. My. GOD! He's calling me about what the plan is for Katie's playdate tonight. Why doesn't he just talk to his daughter and straighten out the plans for the night instead of calling me to ask me what the plans are?!"

Then it was as if the floodgates were ripped wide open because that convo morphed into these convos:

J: "Men are totally clueless. You want to know what happens at my house? I was in the middle of cooking four things at once and asked my husband to get me the cheese grater from the cabinet.
He: "Where's the cheese grater?"
J: "In the cabinet next to the colander."
He: "What the hell is a colander? And what cabinet is that in?"
J: "What?!"

Now granted, eight out of 10 guys would not know what a colander is. Hell, I didn't know myself up until a few years ago. I just called it a strainer. J picked up momentum and continued her rant.

"Then, one other time, we were getting ready to go out and he was looking for his dress shirt."
We all rolled our eyes because we knew what was coming.
He: "Hun, uh, where's my dress shirt?"
J: "In the closet where it always is."
He: "Is it ironed?"
J: "Why don't you check it?"
He: "What about the collar tabs?"
J: "What? In your sock drawer where they always are. DO YOU LIVE HERE?!"

As we screamed with laughter, K blurted out: "I once had twelve texts and four phone calls from my husband about picking up our son from after school care as he sat in carpool line! Um, hello! Do You Live Here?!"

Steven Wright knew what he was talkin' about

As we held our sides, now stitched with laughter, and wiped tears of hilarity from our eyes, we grappled with catching our breath and realized...that was it, in a nutshell. We all live with our significant others but do they truly live in the same house as us? Some are highly involved in house happenings, storage, organization and cleanliness and others are well, are just passing through each day, it seems. I think my husband's cousin, a 19-year old guy who came to stay with us for six months last year, knows our house better than my husband does.

We wondered....our husbands have run their own businesses, managed teams of people, wheeled and dealed client contracts, run national accounts, are well traveled, well-spoken and quite capable of holding down titles akin to chief operating officers. How can they not manage a school pick-up, a playdate, scheduling kids' appointments and most frustratingly, can't find their own things in their own house, specifically, collar tabs that go only into their shirts?

As it seems, on and on the gender gap wheel will spin, in the same universe that holds both Mars and Venus. We may be from two different planets but we're stuck in the same solar system, and most importantly, in the same house. Let's remember where we live.

Netflix Running Time: 90(0) minutes

by Cathy

Our kids have pretty much grown up.

(I will allow myself this statement only for the purpose of this post.)

One is officially a teenager at 13 and the other just turned eight this past summer. They are pretty self-sufficient, play/hang independently and goof around together for the most part and might even be able to whip up some food for themselves when necessary.

Grasping and leaning on this concept more each year, we've slowly, cautiously ventured to begin to watch television and movies when the rest of the kid-free world watches them (i.e. not in the wee hours while the kiddos sleep while struggling to keep one eye open and not in the matinee senior hours of scorching daylight, but rather in "prime time" on weekends and the occasional weeknight.) At this stage in our kids' lives, we should be in the clear for an uninterrupted two hours of movie watching, right? Riiiight?

Apparently, we had no idea what can go wrong in the two specific hours we nestle in to watch our program or much anticipated new release. Without fail, first and foremost, no matter if all hell is breaking loose in the house with televisions and radios blaring, YouTube videos screaming from the computer, the microwave going off and what else have you, they will know the second the DVR clicks on or the DVD Play button is pressed. They will hear our bare feet prop up on the living room coffee table. They will hear us wrap ourselves up with a blanket and plop onto our bed. They can sense it. They can hear it. They can smell it. I don't know how, but they know. I can time my watch to it; they will burst in no more than three minutes into what we are watching with a slew of happenings or questions such as but not limited to:

- Whatcha watchin'?
- Have you seen my [enter a random possession of theirs here]
- How do you turn on the stove?
- Do we have any more Nutella To Go snacks?
- Oooooh a movie! Can I watch?
- We're out of chocolate milk?!?!
- Can I hang out at Katherine's house tonight?
- Can Katherine come over to hang out here?
- Why isn't this letting me watch this video on YouTube?
- Um, hi. You should be eating some popcorn. Do we have any? Want me to make you some?
- Where are all the phone chargers?
- Do you have the iPad? I can't find it.
- I need new socks and none of my underwear is in my drawer!
- Can you remember to wash Pillow and Cuddles tonight?
- [screaming from the shower] We're out of conditioner!
- [screaming from the bathroom] Can someone bring me a roll of toilet paper?
- [screaming in general] There's a bug!!! [harmonized screaming, now]
- Bella called me a brat!
- Can we rent a movie On Demand?
- We're out of waffles!!!
- Can I sit in here and draw with you? Bella won't play with me.
- I need to you reach a blanket on the top shelf of my closet.
- How long IS this movie??

Yes, that last one is a very good question. Just how long IS this movie, exactly? Turns out that what the rest of the world can watch in 90 minutes, takes us 900 minutes. More than once, we've resorted to giving up either due to relentless, unnecessary, unimportant kid chaos or just sheer frustration.

On Demand? Netflix? Fuggedaboutit

I guess that our kids aren't as grown up or independent as we'd hoped they'd be by now. And aside from the purpose of this post, in some sick, twisted parental way, we don't want it any other way just yet. After all, we'll have all the time in the world to watch movies once they truly grow up.

Spider Woman

by Cathy

Just a few short days back from our trip to Mexico, I sat in the kitchen on a Sunday morning, sipping my coffee and relishing the calm before the storm: back to school, back to work, heck...kids waking up. I trolled through Facebook to help me relax and start off one of my last few days of rest in a mindless state.

A local news station had posted a story about a girl in a wheelchair in Oregon who had to call the fire department to swat a GIANT spider that had somehow entered her home. At first glance of the pic, the critter didn't look very intimidating. However, zoomed in, that sucker was huge. And apparently, it was a rare, venomous type that could kill with its bite. Ironically, one of the girls' aunts was recently hospitalized after a spider bite. Note to self: hold off on visiting Oregon.

Courtesy: ABC News Chicago

I went through the rest of my day doing laundry, changing sheets, reorganizing, cleaning, and basically the hectic hell you go through once back from vacation, which immediately cancels out your vacation.

I found the car charger for the DVD player in the kitchen and went on a hunt to find the DVD player case which we had taken on our trip. After much searching, I spotted it in the corner of our living room on the floor. I picked it up, opened the velcro flap and immediately flung the case back down to the floor and let out a sharp, brief yelp. My skin was crawling with goosebumps. As if by power of The Secret, along came a spider...this time in my home in Chicago.

"Oh my God, oh my God, hurry up, hurry up get me something!" I urgently yelled at my clueless tween, sitting at the dining room table nearby humming along to some iTunes song while finishing a school project. She didn't move. The spider had flung off the case in the impact and was crawling along the edge of our area rug. This was the biggest spider I had ever seen in our house - not as big as the one in Oregon, but it sure looked like it at the moment. It was bulky and brown and just ewwwwww!
"Give me something to whack it with!"
"Huh?" turned Bella towards me. "What's going on?"
Arianna rushed into the room. "What's going on? Mommy, what's going on? What's happening?"

I had to take matters into my own hands. With a burst of energy, I leaped like a superhero over our sectional in one fell swoop and dove for the September issue of Glamour sitting nearby, with several pages cut out and strewn about. Thank God for heavy, September issues.
"That's for my collage!" yelled Arianna.
Without saying another word, I whipped back around, shut my eyes and slammed that ugly thing with all my might, simultaneously killing the beautiful Louis Vuitton handbag ad on the back page.

The girls stood speechless to take it all in and then Bella lets out the loudest screech I've ever heard - and that's saying a lot. "AhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhOMGaaaaahhhhhhhhEwwEwwEwww that is the worst thing I've ever seen!"
"It's a spider Bella!"
"Ewwww, there's a big red splotch on the floor! Ewwww, ewww!" She was horrified.
"The spider was big but it was brown, not red. Get me some toilet paper!"
I waited over the spider to make sure it was completely dead and not half-assed dead. Still no toilet paper was brought since she was in a corner freaking out.
"Really?? I killed it! It's dead!"
I walked back over to pick up the splattered spider and finally saw it. There was a dried, red rose petal sitting right next to the mess. I began laughing out loud.
"Um, Bella...you saw a rose petal, not the spider."
"Huh?" she came in hopeful.
"That was a petal from the flowers papi got me for my birthday in Mexico. I had pressed them into the magazine and it flew out when I killed it."
She let out the biggest sigh ever. "Oh my God, oh my God, I thought it was the spider!"
No wonder she freaked. That would have been traumatizing if that had been the spider. She walked away relieved, yet still pale.

I wiped away the mess and was paranoid the entire rest of the day, waiting to spot giant, lurking spiders in any corner of any room, taking my phone with me everywhere I went, with my hand on the dial pad, ready to call the fire department at a moment's notice.

Moonraker of Chicago

by Cathy

I've mentioned before on this blog about how city living comes with its disadvantages when it comes to sleeping and how we wait all winter to throw our windows open, only to have to shut them lest we turn into zombie insomniacs a la World War Z.

After years of this, however, we start to become immune to some of those noises: lawn mowers, leaf blowers, barking dogs, chatty, early-risin' neighbors, equally early and energetic kids, 20 variations of chirping birds, garbagemen's whoops and hollers, garbage truck's BEEP BEEPing to back up and even the occasional firework (or gunshot). But last night, we encountered a new one.

It was about 11:30 and we had just settled our tired bones into bed when we hear SCRAPE, SCRAPE, SCRAPE.
Half asleep, I muttered to Joe, "Are you shifting your feet against the covers?"
"No, that's from outside."
"Huh?" I shot up in bed and leaned my ear towards the open window.
SCRAPE, SCRAPE, SCRAPE.
"What the..."
"It sounds like someone is digging something," offers Joe.
Okay that was comforting. Yet we didn't move either because we were too scared or too tired. A few minutes later we heard it again. Then again. Then....yet, again.
"That's it," said Joe, throwing off the covers. "My curiosity is gonna get the best of me."
He shuffles into the living room, dislodges the balcony door from its rain-soaked door frame and minutes later, lets out a sharp whistle.
Then, silence.
He shuffles back and says, "It's the guy two doors down. He's raking."
"Raking!?! Raking what?"
"I dunno, leaves...." Joe's illogical mumbling trails off towards the kitchen.
"LEAVES? In June?" I got up to see this for myself.

Can't sleep? Try this!!

Sure enough, in the light of the foggy yet brightly-lit full moon, the dude had a rake and was scraping it on whatever he was raking. Grass? Rocks? Gravel? His sidewalk? I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I went back and checked the clock. 11:47pm. Was this guy nuts? Was he Dexter from the hit HBO series?
After some contemplation about calling the police, we just decided to...what else....shut the window in order to get some shut-eye. Sure enough, as what often happens when we shut the windows in the summer to take slumber over noise, I woke up in a pool of sweat a few hours later and re-opened the window. I stopped short to listen for any other sounds. Ahhhhh, sweet silence.

Yet another night of sleep-seeking in the city. I just never thought that midnight raking from an insomniac looney down the street would be added to the list of things to keep us awake. Yet again, this is city living. This is Chicago.

Sisyphus, Meet Wonder Woman

by Cathy

The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. 

One must imagine Sisyphus happy.   - Albert Camus

In Greek mythology, Sisyphus ended up with some seriously whack punishment from the Gods...

He was to push an absurdly large and heavy boulder up a sloped hill in the underworld (who knew hell had hills?) only to watch the boulder roll back down on its own weight right before it reached the top. His punishment was to do this for eternity; the quintessential example of a senseless, futile job that would never have an end nor a positive outcome. There is nothing more abhorrent than a fruitless labor - one that accomplishes nothing. Or is there?

Some argue that his punishment was anything but futile, but rather there was fulfillment and dare we say, even happiness in it, yet I struggle to see how - until I realized that we are each, in our own way, in our own lives, figuratively doing what Sisyphus was physically condemned to do. We are each pushing that proverbial boulder up that hill, only to have it come back down in a different form, a different challenge, a different problem. Once we think we have overcome one challenge, along rolls another; maybe not immediately as in the case of Sisyphus, but eventually, it does come back down.

I have been feeling that way for the last year, both in large challenges in my life - my parents, my kids, my marriage, my job - as well as the daily grind. As soon as I accomplish one task, 10 more crop up almost simultaneously. I honestly feel like Wonder Woman, flashing those reflective (and may I add, stylish) cuffs that deflect and bounce back anything that comes her way. I only wish it were that easy.

Boom...done! Back at ya! Next!

However, it is imperative that we try to find the truth behind Albert Camus' quote above. That even though what goes up will undoubtedly roll back down, there is a lesson to be learned, an experience that will alter your perspective, deepen your understanding, shape your soul or enrich you, open your eyes or change your mind. It's all there for a reason, whatever those reasons and yet unlearned lessons may be. No matter the outcome, the efforts of taking on these challenges and pushing those boulders uphill, will yield a fulfilled outcome of some kind, perhaps in ways you never imagined.

Oh, Snap!

by Cathy

Have you ever known anyone who is continually cool, calm and collected? Someone who remains unnaturally calm in the face of chaos, someone who exudes confidence that no matter what, everything will be okay?

I know a couple of people like that and it always baffles me that they never let their emotions get carried away with them. For us, on the other hand, this family of Greek and Latin hot blood, yelling is our way of talking, so it's to be expected to hear cranked up shrilled voices coming from our car, our house, or whatever space we grace.

Often, I am envious of such people and think, Why can't I be more like that instead of getting all-out Greek loud and dramatically animated over things? I picture these people as examples of social anchors, living a grounded serene, stress-free life, having all their affairs in order, and consider them perfect for seeking advice and solutions from.

Then I begin to wonder. Are they repressed? Is it affecting them in some other way to not express their emotions? It must be exhausting having to be the grounding force. We are told, after all, that it is healthy and cathartic to let your emotions out, to express the way you feel inside instead of shoving things down deep within the confines of your soul to where they can build up and manifest into some toxic explosion of sorts.
Eventually, however, people snap - even these people.  I inadvertently became privy to one of these rare scenarios recently.

Apparently, this acquaintance was on the phone with some bank or credit card company (and had been for the past 45 minutes, according to what I could make out). Yes, I was eavesdropping but let's be clear that the environment we were in wasn't conducive to extreme privacy given the paper thin walls. So when I heard the shrieks through those said walls, I kinda freaked out a little bit. Was there an intruder? Was she being murdered? The more I listened, the clearer it became.

"FIVE! TWO! SEVEN!....NINE! NINE! FOUR!...." Every shrilled number became louder and louder. Then...
"PERSON! PERSON!"
(pause)
"I WANT TO SPEAK WITH A F*$#ING PERSON!!!!!!!!!!"
(long, long pause)
"WHAT IS THE F&%^ING PROBLEM?!?!?"
(pause)
"NO!! I WILL NOT BE PUT ON HOLD AGAIN! DON'T YOU DARE PUT ME ON HOLD! I AM NOT DEALING WITH YOUR AUTOMATED MACHINES ANYMORE! I'VE SPENT ALMOST AN HOUR ON THE PHONE WITH YOU PEOPLE AND ALL I WANT TO DO IS..."

Then the pacing began and her voice trailed away only to return again with vengeance.

"I GO THROUGH THIS WITH YOU PEOPLE EVERY MONTH! THIS IS RIDICULOUS!"

Her voice, which is usually evenly well-tempered and stable, was starting to give way...it was going...breaking...out. I felt so helpless because I knew exactly how she felt because, who hasn't been there?

Apparently, we all go to Snapville. And it feels so comforting to know that we are all capable of that visit.

Word to Your Grandmother

by Cathy

After picking up the girls from his parents' house one evening last week, my husband briskly walked into the living room with his coat still on, and asked: "Did you request for me to pick up some milk?"

"Ummmm...nooo," I said, my eyes still glued to Grey's Anatomy. "That was random. I didn't text you or anything."

"My dad said you texted him and asked him to ask me to bring home milk."

"What? Why on earth would I text your dad? He doesn't ever carry his cell phone. That thing still works?"

He shot me a look and headed into the kitchen to promptly call his dad and get to the bottom of this mystery text. I could hear him clear across the house.

"Dad, Cathy said she didn't text you. Can you check your phone again?" [pause]

"Check to make sure it was from Cathy. Just click on the text itself. Click. [pause] What time did she send it?"

[pause]

"Are you sure?" he chuckles. "Dad. Dad? Check the date. When was it sent?"

[pause]

"Just click it and it should tell you," he said.

[loooooong pause]

Suddenly, Joe's hearty laugh boomed through the house; a continuous cacophony of high-pitched howls and throaty, breathless gasps. I walk in to see him wiping tears of laughter from his eyes before he hung up. He took one deep, focused breath, looked me straight in the eyes and blurted out, "Turns out that text was from two years ago," he emphasized. 

"Bwahahahaha!!" We both busted out in hysterical laughter. And right there in our kitchen that night, we sealed our karmic fate in that this, will in fact, happen to us one day.

Could this be my future grandkid?

It's true our parents' and grandparents' generations didn't grow up in the technologically booming era we did. Therefore, they had to make the effort to acquaint themselves with computers, smartphones, even regular, plain 'ol flip cell phones. Their fingers aren't as adept as ours, their motor skills not as fluid and their reflexes not as quick. It takes them a little longer to get the hang of "this stuff". And those are the brave ones; the rest are too intimidated or feel too far behind to even attempt a try.

I give props to them there elders that try to keep up. I wonder if I will have the patience and wherewithal to keep up with the leaping advances of technology when I am their age. And if not, I know the younger generations will be waiting to pounce on our lack of technological knowledge, ready to "Bwahahahaha!!"away at our expense.

Oh...wait. My kids already do that.

Say Yes to the House!

by Cathy

Patti has often "accused" me of having delusional confidence.

I say "accused" because she sees it as a cray-cray way to live and think about things. As if I am not a realist. On the contrary, I am as far away from a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants mentality as they come when it comes to certain things. I weigh, analyze, scrutinize, rework, reinvent the situation so that I can get the best of both worlds between any two options I am considering. However, I do believe that a healthy dose of throw-caution-to-the-wind confidence is necessary now and then to really allow yourself to dream and perhaps even, get what you want. That is The Secret after all, isn't it?

I realized recently, with quite the proverbial slap in the face, that I get this 'delusional confidence' trait from mother.

I am currently in the stressed-out, elbow-deep, insanely time-sucking, absurdly-infuriating, patience-testing process of helping my parents find a house. After almost 40 years of living a certain way, with a certain routine, and a certain amount of space in a beautiful two-flat they have to sell due to extenuating circumstances, they are now lurched into this life-altering process in their golden years - a time that should be relaxing and stress-free.

As if this all weren't enough, we are at the mercy of a fickle, wobbly real estate market, greedy banks and lengthy approvals, sketchy buyers and sellers, mortgage companies, underwriters, agents and real estate attorneys who have no sense of urgency. Time is money and opportunity, people!

I, being the eldest daughter of two, and the closest in proximity to my parents' residence now, have been spearheading their current sale and necessary house-hunting efforts for the past six months. I've gone with them through the high of every potential gleaming opportunity and the disappointing, heart-crushing low of every squashed hope, missed opportunity and crumpled deal. I am physically and mentally exhausted.

Now, don't get me wrong. I would do anything for my parents and the absolute best thing I would wish for them in this world is to find something that makes them happy, because then? I would have blissful peace of mind. However, changing the mindset of an older generation in the way they live has proven to be a gargantuan task for me, since their list of strict requirements doesn't allow any wiggle room. I understand they should never settle for less than what they want, but realistically, with the parameters they have in place within their budget, I just don't see it happening. At least not in the near future. But my delusional confident mother won't back down.

Perfectly suitable homes have been rejected because (and I am not making this up): there are too many big trees/trees on the property, it's on too busy of a street, it's on too quiet of a street, there's not enough storage (and there never will be because DUH, no house has enough storage as a two-flat building!), the kitchen doesn't have enough room for a table (or if it does, there's not enough counter space, obviously), the dining room is too small to fit the three sideboards they have, too many stairs, too steep stairs, too dark, it's in what neighborhood? and at what price range?

I've explained to them many times that they may have to downsize their furniture and alter their expectations - no one takes pride in ownership like the way my mother kept that building and it''s evident by the immense amount of crap out there. (Honestly, how do people live this way?!!)

No, we cannot all have our cake and eat it too, but my delusional confident mom thinks so. And I hope for her sake (and for mine) she is right.

My Hips Don't Glide

by Patti & Cathy

We were attempting to plan our annual mother-daughter trip to Michigan via email with Miche. Back and forth we went, trying to find that magical date that we could all pencil into our calendars. It seemed, after several exchanges, that our trip - usually done in January or February so that our girls can go sledding - would have to be delayed into March. Of course we lamented the probable lack of snow, and Miche offered up a back-up plan: ice skating! She said we'd only have to bring our own skates. However: ha, ha, and HA. We don't own ice skates. Never have, and not afraid to say it: NEVER WILL. Neither of us find particular joy in the art of ice skating, and while we both certainly admire the graceful, fluid beauty with which others seems to execute it, we also know that although ice skating may look like this for some:

It only means this for us:

Cathy:
The only activities I took as a child were piano lessons and ballet (the latter was possible at the persistent urging of my best friend at the time). But what I really wanted to do more than anything? Take ice skating lessons. I loved the gracefulness of it, the idea of floating on ice, wearing the cute 'lil outfits where the frilly skirts bounced off the back side with every glide. But alas, that was not to happen.

My mom's parenting style was very guarded. We were wrapped up so that only our eyes shown in winter so that we wouldn't get cold or sick; we were never allowed sleepovers; we weren't allowed to date until late in our teen years;  roller skates were banned when I simply tried them on, took one step and landed on my backbone on the asphalt in front of our house; and we weren't allowed to take ice skating lessons because the risk of getting injured or breaking something was just too great.

Therefore, I'm practically one of the last people on earth, it seems, who doesn't know how to skate. And I'm afraid that at my age (I'm not ancient, but let's face it, I'm not a spring chicken, either) getting up on skates and putting blades to ice is too risky for me. Perhaps this is a side effect of the caution my mother instilled in me, but I got aging hips to worry about and I'd rather they just don't glide.

Patti:
I had the misfortune to grow up with weak ankles. As if growing up isn't awkward enough, why not squeeze all the joy out of life and grow up wearing LEG BRACES? Because that's what I did to correct the weak ankle, pigeon-toed mess I was.

I grew out of it and up, and though it was apparent I would never be an Olympian of any sort, I managed to partake in gymnastics and play tag football. Yay, redemption of childhood! However. The one thing I could never manage with much aplomb was ice skating. You see, those damned skates have this way of digging violently into ones ankles, and if ones ankles are weak? They kind of turn in or out and dig right back, hence creating friction. So, yeah, it was never my favorite thing to do.

And still isn't. My poor kid, when trying to skate the very few times she has, asks me to guide her around the rink. ME. As if I could at all offer any sort of competent assistance ON ICE. That is why, when she has the opportunity to skate, I make sure to either a) bring M, who is fearless and does not have weak ankles; or, b) let S invite a friend or two along that knows how to skate. And so far? I've avoided the ice.
.........................

We've avoided the ice. We know we need to. Because if we don't, this will happen:

the dignified face plant

Come on, join us in our anti-skating anthem. (sung to the tune of Shakira's My Hips Don't Lie)

My Hips Don't Glide

Ladies up in here tonight
No skating, no skating
We got the joint pain up in here
No skating, no skating

I fear it, I fear ah

I never really knew I couldn't skate like this
It makes my kids want to act freakish
Como se llama (si), que estoy haciendo (si), (si, Shakira Shakira), en este hielo
I fear it, I fear ah

Oh baby when I wobble like that
I make my doctor go mad
So I'll be wise and keep on
Reading the signs of my body

Why am I on skates tonight?
You know my hips don't glide
And I'm starting to feel not right
What’s the attraction, this tension
Don't see it baby, this ain’t perfection

Hey girl, I can see your body moving
Arms and legs just flailing
And I didn't have the slightest idea
Until I saw you skating

And when I walk up on the slick rink floor
Nobody cannot ignore the way I move my body
And everything so unexpected - the way I right and left it
So I can keep on breaking it

I never really knew I couldn't skate like this
It makes me look so outlandish
Como se llama (si), que estoy haciendo (si), (si, Shakira Shakira), en este hielo
I fear it, I fear ah

Oh baby when I fall like that
It makes my ass be had
So I'll be wise and keep on
Reading the signs of my body

Why am I on skates tonight?
You know my hips don't glide
And I am starting to feel not right
Come on lets go, real slow
Don't you see baby sitting out es perfecto?

Oh yeah, I can see my body moving
Half standing, half wiping out
I don't, don't really know what I'm doing
Geez, maybe it's gout?
My will and self restraint
Have come to fail now, fail now
See, I am doing what I can, but I can't so you know
That's a bit too hard to explain

Oh baby when I try to skate like that
You know I gotta be hypnotized
So I'll be wise and keep on
Reading the signs of my body

Senorita, feel the burn oh, let me see you move like you come from off the floor, oh

Why am I on skates tonight?
You know my hips don't glide
And I'm starting to feel not right
What’s the attraction, the tension
Don't see it baby, this ain’t perfection

No skating
No skating

Microbursts and Power Outages

by Cathy

Last Saturday afternoon, we got hit with a "storm" or a "microburst" as some of my neighbors put it, that lasted about eight seconds. The damage it did? Well, four days later, it's still being cleaned up.

It began with the sky darkening, you know that ominous darkness that Mother Nature shrouds us with when something big is looming? So I braced myself for some serious downpour, but instead, as we lay relaxing in our living room, everything outside shifted. Literally, a burst of what seemed like all four winds hit at once and swayed the trees much further than by nature, they are meant to sway. This wind was LOUD. Then, we heard a series of thumps, cracks and thuds. And for the finale...with a faint click, all the lights went out. Then silence. Just like that, it was over. Eight seconds was all this took. Drizzle was now starting to set in.

"WHOA!" screamed my kids, their faces now plastered to our living room windows. Bella was busily Instagraming pictures of a large tree branch that was now splayed all over our front lawn.

"Yeah, that was craaaaaazy!" I marveled looking out onto the street. The only thing I saw was that branch and thanked God that no other parts of that tree had landed in our living room. Even Joe was snorted awake out of his afternoon nap to assess the damage. Luckily, it wasn't that bad. Or so we thought.

"Mom! How am I going to go the birthday party in this rain!" said Bella, looking out at the now flood-type rain coming down.
"Honey, we'll just have to wait it out," I said, busily searching for candles and a flashlight.

Ari started running around like a chicken with her head cut off, half out of excitement to light candles and hold the flashlight and half out of fear that we had no lights.

When the rain stopped, Joe was ready to drive Bella to the birthday party and Ari wanted to go along for the ride. I waved goodbye as they shuffled through puddles on our deck as they headed downstairs towards the garage. A few minutes later, I heard voices out back. I looked out and saw Joe and the girls huddled under an umbrella in the alley talking to some neighbors who were walking their dog. Then more neighbors joined in and there was a lot of pointing and gawking being done.
"What the....?"
I slipped on my flip-flops and headed downstairs to join them. On the way through the garage, I had to step over a giant outdoor rug that had flown from someone's deck onto our lawn and lay crumpled like a sad, magic carpet at the entrance of our garage door.
"What's going on?" 
"Mommy!" screamed the girls in unison. "Come and see this! You have to come and see this!"

My next-door neighbor's SUV buried under a mangle of live electric wires and a snapped tree from two doors down

"Holy..." I didn't know what to say.
"Luckily he wasn't in it," said one of the dog-walking dudes.
"This is quite something," I managed to say. "Obviously, this is why our power went out?"
"Yeah," said dog-walking dude #2. "And it's just our area here. These guys on this side of the alley still have power. It's just our corner here," he pointed out.
"Have you seen the front damage?" piped up dog-walking dude #1.
"Front damage?!"

We walked around to the front of our street, being joined along the way by yet more neighbors in pairs, arm in arm, with their their dogs, kids, wagons, strollers, all emerging like ants out of the shelter of their anthill, ready to assess the damage.

There are two cars behind this one; the second car's windshield was smashed to smithereens

"All of this damage from an eight-second storm?!?" I mused out loud.
"A microburst," he corrected me.
"B-b-but that's like a mini tornado," I said.
"Can you believe it?" said the neighbor whose property withstood the most amount of damage. "The tops of the trees shifted and then snapped off, shot upwards and landed here," he said pointing to the massive limbs laying in the street, on cars and in his back yard. "I had never seen anything like it before."
Shit, me neither! Well, braid my pigtails and call me Dorothy; I had never been in a tornado before.

An hour later, there was a fire truck out front, coming to assess the danger those lives wires were posing out back. Turns out they were touching the wooden deck of the nearby building and since the transformer was popping sporadically, the threat of fire was a possibility. An hour after that, a police car came out back, parked in our alley, turned on the flashing blue lights and held vigil around the downed wires, preventing people from walking by around it and cars driving past it.

"How much longer until Com Ed arrives?" we asked Officer Bored disrupting his video gaming for the umpteenth time to get a handle on the timing.
"No ETA yet," he repeated himself.
"Are you going to hang out all night?" we asked him politely.
"Until ComEd gets here," he said.
"But people who have been calling in have said that they may not be out here for two or three DAYS," I informed him, rather concerned about the food in my fridge and meat in my freezer. (This is what Greeks worry about - food.)
"Well, let's hope not," he said with a chuckle.

Knowing that they would be hanging out and prioritizing our downed live wire situation made me feel a lot better that ComEd would be out here sooner rather than later. Sure enough, in the dead of the dark night with the blue strobe lights of the police car piercing our eyeballs in the blackness, I heard the droning engines of trucks followed by the BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP due to the reversing of said trucks. ComEd must be here!! I squealed as I jumped out of my half-ass sleep to check out back. More flashing lights, yellow this time, and men in coal miners hats and jumpsuits were scurrying about.

What time is it? I was thankful I had a manual wristwatch and in between flashes through the kitchen blinds, I tried to check  the time with one eye half shut. 3:40a.m. I got back into bed, now thinking that should the lights come back on, this place will light up like a Christmas tree. Sure enough, around 5am I was awoken by a bright light, thinking it was morning. I found the lights lit full on in our living room and up and down our hallway, right outside my bedroom door. I got up to see Joe snoring through all the hooplah on the living room couch since Ari insisted on sleeping in the Big Bed with me and a lit flashlight.

"Pssst! Joe!" I loudly whispered in excitement.
He overdramatically, as usual, snorted awake, jumped to his feet and asked "What's wrong!?!?" all in 2.5 seconds. I should nickname him microburst.
"The lights are back on!"
"You woke me up to tell me that?!"
"Yes, you were totally out in a fully lit room! Boy, you must be tired," I said, half pissed that he had been sleeping like a rock all night while I was up monitoring candles, kids and ComEd.
"Ya think?!" he said as he settled back down to sleep.

I shut off the now imposing lights and headed off to bed. Tomorrow, we will all see things in a different light.

How Does a Smile Become an Eye Roll?

by Cathy


I loooove babies.

They coo and goo and gah and smell delicious. Yes, they also pooh and spit up and scream and fart and yell and are a blubbery mushy mess. But when those babies are able to control some of those bodily functions and can sit up by themselves and become aware of the people around them - that is when they get to be the most fun.

I'm fortunate to have the option of being around not one but TWO babies these days. One is the little girl of my sister, my one and only niece. The other is the baby boy of my daughter's dance instructor. I say that I am fortunate because some baby-loving people aren't always lucky enough to personally know someone who has a baby they can sit comfortably with and hold and play with and spend some quality time with. For this, I feel fortunate.

One day as we were sitting at the dance studio passing around that little baby boy like a hot, smoochable potato between all the moms who are gushing over it and clearly, getting their baby fix on, the baby's dad brings a blanket and lays him down on it in the hopes of getting him to go to sleep. (Yeah, in a room full of baby-lovin' moms, good luck with that buddy.) But even HE got carried away with the baby's cuteness as he huddled over that slobbering, mushy pile of heaven on all fours babbling baby words and throwing big, teethy smiles his way. (Again, way to get him to get some shut eye, dad.) As he did his little daddy show, the baby looked him squarely in the face and acknowledged his dad's efforts by returning an ear-to-ear grin with every word and smile. And with such a smile came a chorus of "Awwwww" from the gaggle of moms watching and longing.

How does this...

Then one of those moms quickly brought us back to reality.
"Remember how easy that was? I remember when they used to smile at every little thing you said and did. Now, all I get is an eye roll."

All of us let out a collective YESSSS!! Riiight???

...turn into this?!?

What happened between the smile years and the eye roll years? Their friends? The Disney Channel? What could make these sweet, gullible, innocent little creatures turn into annoyed, attitude-riddled beings? Why can't they just smile when they are spoken to or when asked to do something like they did when they were little? Why CAN'T it be THAT EASY??

I think it was Phyllis Diller who was credited with some variation of the following genius line:

"We spend twelve months trying to get our kids to walk and talk and the rest of their lives telling them to sit down and shut up."

Now if we could just get them to keep that smile from turning into a look that is the visual equivalent of listening to nails on a chalkboard - THAT would be a parenting accomplishment that even Phyllis Diller wouldn't scoff at.

Fifty Shades of Grey, Sleepless Nights

by Cathy

Since I am on a roll about the lack of sleep I am getting due to my neighbors and city living, I thought it appropriate to round out my Insomniac Trilogy by talking about what prevents me from getting any sleep in my own bedroom. Yes. I'm going there.

Sleepless nights, partly due to the antics of Mr. Christian Grey

I knowingly prolong my sleep window of opportunity by getting caught up in THE trilogy of the moment: Fifty Shades of Grey.  I say to myself that I'll only read "a few pages just so that I can calm myself down" and get me in the mood for sleep, but if you've read any Shade of the Grey trilogy, it elicits the exact opposite effect. Nonetheless, as the clock trudges relentlessly towards midnight, I force myself to earmark the salacious page I'm on and begin coaxing the slumber out from deep within my exhausted bones. I settle in next to my snoring-to-high-heaven husband for what I hope and pray will be a restful night's sleep.

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blinkety blink. I can almost hear my eyes blinking. I wish I could be like my husband, who conks out as soon as his head hits the pillow. But, no. I have to play and re-play the day in my head, analyze, re-analyze, think, re-think, plan, re-plan, mentally write and re-write tomorrow's to-do's, worry, freak-out and toss and turn and get up to make sure I: didn't forget any laundry in the washing machine; make sure I turned on the dryer; remembered to thaw meat for tomorrow's dinner; check on the girls to make sure they aren't too hot or too cold; adjust the windows, make sure the doors are locked and anything else you can think of. Oh yeah...by now...I have to pee.

I am convinced that at the point my sleep window closed, the hormone door was swung wide open. Thus, a mix of: stayed up way too late + Far Too Many Shades of Grey + hormones + Joe's snoring + the incessant thoughts springing up in my head = me falling asleep somewhere in the vicinity of 2 a.m.....which....is right around the time Ari wakes up.


Pitter patter pitter patter. Just as I am dozing off, I hear her little feet coming towards our bedroom down the hallway and my stomach sinks. As my body is jarred fully awake and once again has veered off the course of sleep, my nerves are now shooting electric currents through my body and my eyes start to sting. Immediately I know I have to decide between three options:1) scoop her up and take her back to lay with her until she falls asleep again 2) let her sleep there while I try to sleep there or 3) just leave her there and I go sleep in her bed.

Since option #1 is too much work and option #2 has resulted in little fists and feet landing on my face and poking me in places that jerk me angrily awake and have me looking like a baggy-eyed, bruised up version of myself, I instinctively go for option #3.

As I shuffle into Ari's fluffy pink bed, I make yet another mental note about picking up some Nyquil and Tylenol P.M. on my next store visit. Oh...and some toilet paper. And some...

No Brains? At Least We Have Legs (Sort Of)

by Cathy

This past Sunday was the only "day off" we had in a long time: no birthday parties, no visitors, no visits elsewhere, no errands, no Costco, no nothing. Just me and my DVR. I knew the only thing we had to do was run out and get something notarized before Joe left for Mexico on Monday.

So around noon, when I saw the clouds of doom start to roll in overhead, I urged Joe to head out and get this over with before it gets late and we're stuck in a potential typhoon. We shuffled into the car, Joe still on his crutches, papers in hand, and set off to run our 10-minute task at the local Currency Exchange.

As I pulled into the rear parking lot of the neighborhood C.E., Joe says, "I always forget they have a parking lot here. That's awesome."

"Yeah, but what's not awesome is that every time I come here, they never have what I need. No international stamps, no plate stickers...but they've got to have a notary. Every C.E. has a notary," I said, sure of myself.

It started to drizzle as we hobbled our way in. It was empty except for one lone girl behind the bulletproof glass. "Hi, we just want to get something notarized," I said cautiously.

"Oh no, we don't have a notary here," she quickly replied.
"SEE? What did I tell you?" I said loudly, turning to Joe. "They never have anything you need here. I don't know why I bother to even keep coming back. This is the last time..." my voice trailed off as I headed to the door.

"Where do you recommend we go?" Joe calmly asked the girl.
"There's one up the street on Clark and Lunt," she had her answer at the ready. Of course.

We got in and drove up the street, found the C.E. she suggested with no parking lot, and this time I had Joe sit in the car while I ran in to see if they had a notary. This C.E. was so huge, it looked like an amusement park, complete with line ropes to keep the bevy of customers in order as they waited their turn. 'They must have a notary here,' I thought a little too presumptuously.

"No, I'm sorry," said the Latino behind the the 'Next Window Please' sign propped up against the bulletproof glass. "Next one up the street you can try is on Dodge and Dempster."

"What?!" I practically shrieked, thinking at how ridiculous it is that I have to go OUTSIDE the city limits to find a C.E. with a notary.

I jogged back to the car in the rain which was coming down more steadily now.
"Nope," I said to Joe as I got in. He looked at me incredulously.
"This is fucking ridiculous. Isn't this their JOB? Where the hell are we going to go to now?"
"I know the C.E. by my parent's house has a notary, let's just go there," I suggested.
"All the way over there?!?! That's crazy!"
"You have a better idea?" I said.
Pause.
"How about the Mexican dude at the place near our house? He does faxing, UPS, Fed Ex, he has to do notary. Let's stop there. It's on the way to your parent's neighborhood anyway."

I guess he did have a better idea.

I pulled up across the street from the brightly lit store and ran across the street shielding my eyes from the incessant rain. I stopped short: Closed. I ran back and got in the car. "Closed," I repeated, almost wanting to laugh at this point.

"You gotta be shitting me!" he said. "How can it be closed? The place is lit up like they're having a Christmas party in there! Why do people do that? Can you imagine how much he's paying for electricity by doing that?!" he asked, now going off on tangents. "Now we still gotta go all the way to your parent's neighborhood," he said pointedly.

"Dude, it's not that far," I said trying to calm myself down before we both lost it. "We might as well keep going...we're on a roll!" I said, cranking up my Greek music and going with the flow.

As we were waiting to turn down the street towards my parent's C.E., Joe remembered that there's a C.E. on the corner, going in the other direction, a few blocks away.
"Oh yeah!" I said happily. "That's a good one too!" I wondered why all the good C.E.'s were near my parent's house.

We snagged a spot in the tiny parking lot, made our way past the solicitors outside the Dunkin' Donuts and passed a squabbling couple on the way in.

"Do you have a notary here?" I asked hopefully, pulling my now curly, wet hair out of my eyes.
"Yeah, uh, Paula..." said the guy towards a girl at the last window. "You're a notary, right?"
"Yes," she said quietly.

HALLELUJAH!! I practically screamed with joy.

As we got to the window, the slouchy-panted, wool cap-wearing Eminem-looking dude at the next window was shuffling uneasily and hopping around from foot to foot. "Yo dog," he tells the guy behind the bulletproof glass. "You saw this, right? I just came in to pay my bill, right? I could hear her outside lying her ass off right now," he continued.

Ooooh! Something was going down! I, being my naturally nosy self, had to find out what that was. I turned to look outside and realized he was talking about the couple we passed on the way in, whose voices were getting so loud, they could be heard inside. Suddenly, a police car rolls up and an equally slouchy looking, bed-headed cop comes dragging out and shuffles towards the couple. After a lot of hand gesturing and choice words caught here and there, the cop enters the C.E.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" he lazily asked the Eminem dude.

"Yo, listen man. These people here can vouch for me. I was just coming in here to pay my bills like a good citizen," he stressed as his hands alternately hit his chest and went shooting out full length in front of him almost poking the cop. "I might have walked past his girlfriend a little too close but he came after ME dog! I swear he went to his truck and pulled out what looked like a gun and then put it back in his glove compartment, man!"

I was getting a wee bit nervous now. The cop looked unfazed. Looking around the C.E., he asks, "Anyone here see anything?"

I fully expected someone to come forth since they all saw this, but apparently, some invisible money must have fallen from the sky because everyone was looking down, searching the floor while keeping mute.

"I was helping a customer," offered up our girl, Paula.
The C.E. guy was careful not to say too much either "No, I didn't see much."
"C'mon dog!" said Eminem. "You were right here!" he implored.
Joe and I just looked at each other and buried our faces into our business. At least we really didn't see anything.

"I could let you see the video cameras if you want. That's the best I can do," the guy offered up behind the bulletproof glass, which was being wiped down to within an inch of its life by the obliviously steadfast cleaning guy, who worked through all of this commotion as if it happens on a daily basis.

Meanwhile, our girl says, "Are you sure you need these notarized? I don't see a space on here for that."
Joe and I grabbed the documents and stared at them dumbly.
"B-B-but, I thought that's what THIS was for," I said pointing to a bunch of lines for signatures.
"No..." said Joe slowly reading it. "That's for the recipient of these documents."

Loooooong silence. All we could here was the fighting of the couple outside, Eminem trying to convince the cop he was minding his own business and now, booming claps of thunder and rain crashing down. THEN, my cell phone rings.

"Hi, this is Mrs. Holly, Bella's guitar teacher?" said the voice chirpily. You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me. NOW?
"Yes?" I asked impatiently.
"Can we reschedule her lesson this week? I...."
"Can I call you back? I'll send you an email, okay? Talk soon!" I ended the call.

"So, you mean to tell me we didn't even need to get these notarized?" asked Joe of me incredulously.
"Dude, you reviewed these papers more times than me! YOU didn't notice this? I just glanced at it."
Joe takes a deep breath and turns to Paula.

"Let's just do it anyway. We're here."
"Great. That will be $2.00," she said as she signed and stamped away.

"Do you have any cash on you?" Joe turned to me.
"No, just my debit. Do you?"
"No. I have a debit and a credit card only."
"That'll be an extra $3.00 charge to use your card, sir," quipped Paula behind the now truly justified bulletproof glass.
"Wonderful," whined Joe, whose injured foot had now swollen to a crimson pink. "Five dollars for a notary we didn't even need."

He slides his debit card through and...nothing. Confused, he then slides his credit card through. Nothing.
"Crap," muttered Joe, utterly defeated. "When I called Citibank this morning to tell them I would be traveling I think they deactivated my cards for use here."
"WHAT?" I asked. Could this day get any worse? "Did you tell them to do that?"
"Of course not," he says. But what else could it be?? I KNOW I have money in these accounts. Jesus...what else?" said Joe, shaking his head. "Now I gotta call them back."

I slid my card through, paid $5.00 for a stamp and a signature we didn't need to begin with, and by then, fortunately, the House of Pain situation outside had dispersed.

We chalked up this entire dramatic comedy of errors to one simple Greek saying:
"Those who don't have a brain, have legs."
(And we barely had that going for us since Hoppy Chulo is still on one leg.)

Yes. It's that simple. Had we used our brains to read the documents properly, we wouldn't need to run/crutch around half of Chicago, and practically be witness to an assault that may/may not have included a gun.

Of Errands and Men

by Cathy

Moms tackle a lot and most of it via multitasking or at the very least, getting tasks done in rapid succession. We're juggling work, cleaning, cooking, laundry, school drop off/pick up, activities, playdates, doctor's appointments, homework, school projects just to name a few. Of course, I don't want to undervalue the role that some dads play in all of this - kudos to the ones that do and shame on the ones that don't - you are both in this together and your wife didn't have those kids by herself. (But that's a soapbox for which I will get on for another blog post.)

For the purposes of this post (and what I'm getting at here), is that sometimes these dads, whether they are actively pitching in or not, are forced to at some point, step into unknown territory when it comes to handling some of the tasks that moms usually handle. Such as? Birthday parties and the gift purchase that goes along with it.

Before I left to go on my Mexican work vacay, I reminded Joe that he had to take the kids to a birthday party for one of Ari's kindergarten friends on a Saturday night. Yes, you heard right...a kids party on a Saturday night.  (The family is Polish and they did this thing up Euro/Latin style, i.e. totally right up our alley. It was held at the Park Ridge community center swimming pool and the grandfather of the birthday girl, who owns a Polish restaurant, catered the event with enough delicious food and varieties thereof to feed the whole country of Poland. Bottom line, this was our type of party.)

My family and friends were more than willing to fill me in on the deets of preparing for the party when I got back from my trip. My husband, apparently with a plan in hand, decided to stop in at Target with Ari on the Saturday of the party while Bella was in her ballet class. His intention was purposeful and planned: pick up a gift card and head out the door. But the poor guy, not versed in Target visits with the girls, was taken on a joyride by Ari. She worked her way around the store to the toy aisle where she bombarded him with "OOOH how cute!" and "Can i get this?" Finally she found THE ONE toy she was sure her friend would love. After many unsuccessful, time consuming attempts on my husband's behalf to steer her towards the gift cards, he decided to go with it and subsequently, thought it would be a sweet gesture since the gift came from Ari herself.

So they bought it and left with just enough time to pick up Bella from her lesson. Car screeching to a halt outside the ballet studio, gift tumbling around the backseat, he picked up Bella on time and headed home to wrap the gift and prepare the swimming bag for the party.

After hauling up the Christmas wrapping paper bin from storage, they determined that they couldn't wrap the gift in a candy cane motif or reindeer games wrapping paper, so they dug around and found the only neutral paper that had accidentally made its way into that bin:

My 10-year old's idea of Granny Wrapping Paper

So Bella took charge of wrapping the gift (she prides herself on wrapping gifts and does a professional looking job, thanks to the technique I passed on to her from my many years in retail), but not before interrogating her father on the choice of gift.

"Papi, you do realize that this gift is for 3-36 month olds, right?!?"

"What?" exclaimed my husband, as he stared down the box containing the big clunky, plastic teapot and cups staring him in the face. "Really? I didn't even notice that!"

"Yeah, it says it right on here. See?" she pointed and tapped on the box.

"Oh well. That's what Ari wanted and she wouldn't leave without it. She was crying over getting it."
Bella gave her usual rolling of the eyes and started wrapping that gift in the paper above, which she ultimately summed up as follows:

"We were the only ones there that wrapped a gift meant for a three-month old in 80-year old wrapping paper for a six-year old."

Live and learn and make it your own, I say.

Once at the party, they swam, ate like kings and had a swimmingly good time. No one noticed the oddness of our gift - and if they did, they kept mum about it - just like the other school parents that were visibly horrified at how late this kids birthday party was and seemed at the ready to call the party police about it all. They dutifully left at a reasonable hour.

My husband on the other hand? He got home at 10:30pm with sufficiently satisfied. well-fed, tired kids in tow, and another parental task successfully behind him. Good job, babe.

Stomach Bugging

by Cathy

As is probably expected from a trip to Mexico, I came down with some sort of a stomach bug/flu/virus the night I returned from Cabo. Was it Montezuma's Revenge? Was it the water? Was it the stomach flu circulating on the plane? Who knows. All I know is that this mutha was turnin' my stomach out.

Before I went to sleep that night, I felt a little queasy and attributed the symptoms to some 'bad sausage' I ate for dinner, a meal my husband lovingly had prepared for my welcome home. I fell asleep and was awoken at 3 a.m. to some major stomach pains. I got up to use the bathroom and...nothing. I could hear my intestines partying it up - gurgling, twisting and churning the night away - but I could not relieve myself. It was the strangest feeling. I dragged myself back to bed and desperately tried to sleep off the pains. By the next morning, I had a fever and felt like my body was run over by a Mack truck.

My husband continued tackling the daily routine, something he had by now become an expert at: lunches, school and activity shuffling, dishwashing, cooking and everything in between as I quietly napped most of the day and got up to munch on some saltine crackers and wait out this 24-hour bug.

Two days later, ON MY HUSBAND'S BIRTHDAY, he caught the same mutha. He awoke okay enough that day, donned some dressier clothes and set out to renew his drivers license. By the time he came to pick me up from work, kids in the back seat picked up from school, he was shivering so bad he was tearing up.

"Let me drive'" I suggested.
"No. It helps distract me. I'll just drive home," he said in his usual stubborn way.

What ensued after we got home, could only be referred to as a tragic comedy.

He took his shoes off and slid under the comforter in bed fully clothed, teeth chattering, body convulsing with shakes.
"Can you throw some of those wool covers over me? I'm freezing!"
I covered him up to his chin. Five minutes later...
"Can you wrap my feet in that other wool blanket? Just my feet? Yeah...there you go. Thanks."
"Anything else?"
"Can you prop up these pillows for me? I'm not comfortable laying all the way down."
"Aren't you going to try and sleep?"
"No, I can't sleep. Can you prop them up higher?"
Propping takes place.
"No, that's too high. Can you bring them lower?"
Propping takes place. Apparently, said propping wasn't quite right for the Goldilocks of Pillows.
"Can you just...I don't want to be all the way down but not too high." [Insert more propping here.] "OK, that's good."
 "Do you want me to sit here with you?"
"Yeah, for a little if you don't mind."
"Sure."
Pause.
"You know that I still have that life insurance policy in place should anything happen, right?"
"Babe, you have the stomach flu."
"Yeah, I know, I'm just sayin'."
Pause. [Insert silent chuckle from me here.]
"Do you want me to get you some water? You should drink liquids if you have a fever so you don't get dehydrated."
"Yeah, sure....Wait! Can I get a straw with that so I don't spill it?"
"Sure, babe."
"OH and can you get me the Vicks?"
"The Vicks Vapor Rub? For what? You're not congested."
"But I need the fumes. They'll help distract me"
Okaaaaaay. No Vicks was found after a house-wide search; probably swallowed up in the giant pink mess of the girls' bedroom.
"Should I put a hot water bottle near my feet? They're like blocks of ice they're so cold!" he said after whining about not finding the said Vicks.
"Why don't you try to get some sleep?"
"I can't."
"OK, I'm going into the kitchen to cook some dinner. Will you be okay?"
"Yeah. But first can you change me?"
"CHANGE YOU?"
"Yeah, can you help me change out of my clothes and put on my pajamas?"
Okay, this was it.
"Dude, I had this for two whole days and all I did was nap and pad around quietly in my robe. You didn't hear a peep from me. You're a total BABY!"
"OK, never mind, I'LL just do it."

So after laying in bed for some time, getting up to change in to his PJs on his own (evident from the groaning and painful moaning I heard all the way in the kitchen) and getting up to use the toilet frequently, (evident from the scream that would be emitted from the bathroom every time he sat on the cold toilet seat) he announced that he was "STARVING." But before he gobbled up some soup, he asked me for some Aleve because his head was pounding.
"How many, one or two?"
"Ten," he replied.

Some more time passed during which any one of the following comments could be randomly heard:

"I'm so cold!"
"I'm so hot!"
"Do you think I need a cold compress on my head?"
"Where's that thermometer??!" (Again, also lost in the cluttery pinkness of the girls' room.)
"I need to take some Nyquil or something to knock me out." (I explained to him that when I had this, this BUG knocked me out and I took three naps in one day. Why couldn't HE sleep?)

"Can you rub the back of my neck? Where's that rubbing oil? No, not the rubbing alcohol, the massage oil!"

"OH MY GOD, your hands are FREEZING!! Rub nice! Rub them together first, Japanese style so they can warm up!" (After a minute of Mr. Myagi-ing, I told him this wasn't gonna work and he should just rub his own shoulders.)

I left him there and went to take care of Ari, who by now, was in the tub and yelling for me to wash her hair, while helping Bella with her math homework, cook dinner, wash the ceiling-stacked dishes in the sink and the million little things that need tending to around the house, then put off the begging from Ari to play tea party with her and review Bella's homework once again.

Finally, towards the end of the night, I went into the bedroom and saw that Joe was sitting up in bed watching television. It must've been a rough few hours for him because his hair looked like an unstyled, jacked up version of Pauly D.'s hairdo - stiff, sticking straight up but in a curly, longer, messed up mess.

Pauly D's infamous hairdo

"You didn't sleep at all?" I asked.
"No. I couldn't."
"I was completely knocked out by this thing. How are you feeling?"
"My whole body aches." Pause. "Can you please rub me down now?" he added, quietly. "Just rub my calves. They're killing me."

I proceeded to knead his calves, then conveniently, this turned into rubbing his lower back, his upper back, his shoulders, the back of his neck, all while attempting to watch television over the moans, groans, ooohs, aaahs that got higher pitched by the minute. It may have sounded like a fun time to someone listening in, but quite plainly put, it wasn't.

Upon finishing the rubdown, he magically!  instantly! felt better. "My God, what did you DO? It felt like you were rubbing the fever and aches right out of my body! I feel so much better now!" He started chirping away like baby bird that just found his voice. His newfound Chatty Cathy phase led me to believe that I had done my job in helping him get better, and go from baby to man once more. And given that I did get some really good laughs from his miserable ordeal, which made the process of helping him more bearable, I didn't mind taking care of my "baby daddy." That's what we do.

And speaking of babies...

Thought I'd add this, you know, so you can get another view of Pauly D's, um...hair

Zipping to the Extreme

by Cathy

As you may have read in my last post, I was off in Cabo last week on a "business" trip. In the midst of what turned out to be more leisure than business, checking in first at this hotel for two days:

Sheraton Hacienda del Mar Golf & Spa Resort, Los Cabos

 Then at this hotel for the final two days:

The Westin Resort & Spa, Los Cabos

 I did something EXTREME.

Of all the words I can think of to describe me, "extreme" is definitely not one of them. In fact, my middle name should be  "middle-of-the-road" or "medium" or "moderation" or "non-extremist". I don't do anything in extremes - I like being right smack dab in the middle. That's where I feel comfortable; that's who I am.

However, my whole Cabo trip was about stepping outside of my comfort zones - traveling alone; being comfortable alone; exploring new places; meeting new people; trying new things - alone. So wouldn't it be fitting that I did something I would not normally be prone to doing within my comfort zones? Yes, it would. So, I did. And what did I choose to do? Zip Lining. Yes, I willingly signed up for the Costa Azul Xtreme Canopy Tour. (Notice, the word Xtreme.)

The funny thing is that I didn't even realize this was an Xtreme sport until I got there and the instructors rigged us up in our harnesses, secured the clips that would support my weight as I dangled hundreds of feet in the air above cacti, burning desert rock and slithering rattlesnakes -  and ran through the drill. That's when I went into full-on panic mode. You see, since I landed in Cabo, where I was trying so hard to take in the beautiful scenery and revel in the ocean air, the looming zip lining activity kept nagging at my vacation state of mind, not allowing me to truly relax. I was so stressed about how I would handle it, I surveyed everyone in my path about it: the guys sitting next to me on the plane, our tour guide, our host, all 12 of the other folks on our tour, the hotel bar waiter, the unassuming couple from Minnesota baking next to me on the pool deck, swimmers wading past me in the pool...

I took diligent note of all the feedback (all of it reassuring and positive and FUN!) and wrestled back and forth between zip lining or just sticking with good old kayaking (I had done it in the past, albeit it was on a river, not the Pacific Ocean) and it seemed "moderate" enough. After conducting my thorough, unscientific focus group,  I decided to just stick with it. This trip was all about pushing my boundaries after all. 'Just buck up and do it, Cathy, dammit.'

On the morning of, I was surprisingly calm. The decision was made and I was at ease with accepting it. Once we got there, I applied my 30th coat of 50 SPF. (I started applying this the minute I woke up that morning because the thought of being up high in the Mexican hills with the Mexican sun beating on my pasty Chicago ass for three hours straight terrified me. In fact, I almost wore a long sleeve and long pants - a tunic and scapular shy of becoming Cathy, the flying, zip lining nun.) I'm sorry, I've gotten some crazy ass looking sunburns in Mexico - painful, ridiculous looking sunburns that could pass for geographical maps and airport runways. Thus, the fear. Not. Good. So I slathered to the point where I could slip right off that zip line. Also, not. good.

What seemed to calm my nerves somewhat is when I spotted grandmas, grandpas and two children (a nine-year old and an 11-year old) in the crowd. Yes, I did ask them their ages. Okay, if they can do this, I can do this. I took the pulley by the horns, stepped onto the platform on the mountainside, crossed my ankles, lifted my knees to my chest, leaned back in my harness and let the guide push me off the edge into the wide open air. I shut my eyes and screamed like a baby...for about 10 seconds.

This was taken by our tour's "Paparazzi" guy. That' me being Xtreme!

Then I realized that the speed was not as zippy as I thought it would be, so I opened my eyes and and took it all in. I thought about what the instructor said: "This is the closest you'll ever get to flying." I saw the Sea of Cortez off in the distance and the turkey vultures (no joke) tauntingly hovering overhead, waiting for me to plunge to my thorny death on that cacti and do what they do best. But seriously, by the end of that first zip line, I was hooked. Literally and figuratively speaking. I wanted more. I wanted higher. I wanted longer. I wanted faster. There were eight zip lines in total and I took in the sensation and exhilaration to the fullest.

All was great until our instructors said there would be a rappelling portion of the tour. Rapelling? Where you dangle off a platform on a rope that you, yourself are controlling and releasing to drop you - or shoot you - down 150 feet onto the ground below all while bouncing yourself off of a jagged rock wall lest you cut up your knees, a la SWAT team style? Too much to think about but since I was on a high from zip lining, I thought, 'What the heck.' But when I saw those go before me and how they were shaking, and pushed off that ledge and saw one lady come back with a rope burn on her hip, my 'What the heck' turned into 'What the hell??'

I was the first one to unclip myself from that wire holding me on that platform, turn on my heel and say, "I'm out. I did what I came to do. This is a vacation. I don't need the stress." Unbeknownst to me, there were twenty others from our group sitting this one out. And wouldn't you know I started a trend. Three more walked off that platform, one by one, after me, while an over-confident dude checked them off, "Another one bites the dust."

Well, that was my point. I didn't want to literally bite that dust waiting for me at the bottom of that cliff. Too much of this activity was left to my physical abilities and sporty know-how, and I was in no position to be fully left in charge during this Xtreme sport.

Overall, I can view this experience as "I chickened out on rappelling" or "I went beyond my comfort zone to the point where I was so proud of myself and felt content at trying something so out of my league."

In my eyes, I chose to fly.

Cabo? I'll Go.

by Cathy

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a simple step."  -- Confucius

I have a very good reason for being M.I.A. on the blog this past week... I was off on a "work" trip to one of the places I've been wanting to visit most - Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. I heard it was a haven for jetsetters and celebs alike (evident from the fact that I counted no less than 28 learjets on the tarmac when I landed) and that it was probably one of the most picturesque places in Mexico.  So when the opportunity came for me to be whisked away by these fancy hotel chains and corporate resort companies for the sake of wedding research to follow through on my editorial obligations to inform the local wedding demographic of what Cabo has to offer, I was all in. Well, all except for my conscience, whose guilty side kept rearing its ugly ass head. Guilt, for being the only one in my family able to experience such a beautiful place and take some much deserved time off.

First off, I have never gone on a vacation solo; I have visited my friend Sue in London once when Bella was two years old but this is the first trip I was taking completely alone. Sure I would meet others in my group while I was there and I have no problems with my social skill set, but not only was I going "alone" but without my family. Here I would be in these beautiful, beach town resorts, watching other families enjoy their time together, smooching their spouses while doting after their flotation-deviced kids in the infinity pool overlooking the Sea of Cortez. And I?  I would be...with a bunch of strangers, (some of whom DID bring their significant other) and the latest issue of Glamour. This was going to be quite the test for me on many levels.

Once I got there, checked in, explored, had some goodies laid out for me in my room and took in the scene, I relaxed - I felt more at ease. I was starting to slowly let go - of the need to constantly be with someone, of the stress, of the guilt and most importantly, of the boundaries I set upon myself in many ways.

Notice the TWO wine glasses and TWO coffee mugs.

As I met new people (I discovered that even those traveling with someone felt the need to chat people up, and that it wasn't just me wandering aimlessly around the pool trying to mask my 'I'm starved for conversation' look) I discovered that there are pluses and minuses to traveling without your family - traveling alone.

The pluses:

- No one is snoring/farting/coughing/tossing/turning you awake at night or crawling into your bed and pounding you with their little fists and feet. I slept like a champ for the first time in a long time my first night there.

- You don't have to be on anyone else's schedule except your own; well in my case, we did have an itinerary that we had to adhere by but all the activities were spaced out perfectly that allowed for a nice amount of free time.

- I was never late to anything because I didn't have to wait for anyone else to get ready or help anyone else get ready except myself. 

- Because of that last point, I looked fresh and fashioney every evening for dinner and tequila tastings. No accessories were missing, no outfit was stained or mismatched and hair and makeup was perfectly in place.

- You get to be alone - truly alone - in a place other than your day-to-day environment, which gives you a whole different perspective on life and everything outside your "little world." I wrote some thoughts down. I allowed myself to take things in and feel. My five senses were alive. Because of this, I found myself being moved to tears on more than one occasion: when I slid open that giant balcony door and took in the ocean view from my room for the first time; 

when I went for my first walk on the beach and admired the overwhelming awesomeness of the sea while the frothy waves crashed at my feet; when I looked up at night from my balcony and saw the night sky lit up like a Christmas tree with seemingly all the astronomical formations in the cosmos; and when I awoke one morning to find this expression of love for someone in the sand below:

 Now, the minuses:

- Until I got used to being alone, and even then, it was hard to not want to share such a beautiful place with someone I loved. Like I emailed to Patti on my first day there - torn between feeling sad because I was alone, guilty because my family couldn't join me and tingling with curiosity as to what the upcoming experiences would bring - "even the most beautiful place in the world can be lonely if you have no one to share it with." But the goal was to feel comfortable with being alone and enjoying the freedom of that - and that's what I tried to focus on.

- You have no one to rub suntan lotion on your back. I blindly sprayed back there and prayed it took in all the right places. Then I relied on my long hair to do the rest.

- I don't mean to be ungrateful that I get to sleep in an ocean view room right on the beach, but those waves crashing haphazardly in no rhythmic fashion whatsoever (isn't that what they're supposed to do?), actually kept me awake at night rather than lulling me to sleep. This is not my life; it needs getting used to. I know, I know, I'll cry you a river.

- All of your pictures are of scenery. Except for the ones you try to take by turning the camera on  yourself (thank you iPhone for making this super easy to do now with the reverse camera angle feature!) Here, the results:

Me, posing for me, on the Sea of Cortez. 'Am I doing this right?'

or

Me, posing for me, on the (romantic) sunset cruise at Land's End Arc

Of course once I got to know the people in my group and realized that they were interesting, fun and funny, things got even better. We went shopping, had gourmet four-star dinners every night, went on tours, and even karaoked. We had drinks at the hotel swim-up bars, exchanged industry stories and gossip and had some great laughs. We saw whales spouting and flicking their tails in the shimmering sea as we had sushi and cucumber margaritas during a sunset cocktail hour. We saw iguanas, sea lions that swam up to our catamaran in the Pacific, turkey vultures hovering overhead, dolphins, fly fish and even sea urchins. 

Even though I technically wasn't "alone" I felt as though for me, I was. I used this trip as a challenge for myself - to push my boundaries, to go outside my comfort zone, to "Do It Anyway" like Patti and I say. And I am so glad I did.

Stay tuned for my next post about how I pushed my physical boundaries while in Cabo!