Bye-Bye, Blogger

Surveying the dining room during lunch, Lyle casually asked, "When are moving from this house, Mommy?" His tone let me know that he assumed moving day must be right around the corner.

Who can blame him? It must seem about time. After all, we've lived here a full year now, so why aren't we packing?

No one is only a therapist at the office, and so I made the boys a transitional photo album before we moved from San Francisco to Chicago. In it are photos of each apartment we lived in along with the addresses (they'll never have a problem finding their early homes), and there are pictures of all of our friends, family there, and each and every favorite place we loved. About halfway through, the focus shifts to Chicago, where I placed photos of the new rental house, the neighborhood, Baxter's school, and the local ice cream shop, in addition to photos of Matt's entire family. We all love this album - I found myself thumbing through it in the living room just this morning - and it was a huge help to the kids during the big transition. It got a lot of love, especially from almost-2-year old Lyle who had no other way of understanding why his world was suddenly upside down.

But those pages of all the places we lived? There are too many. It's kind of scary, how many times we moved with the boys over the past 7 years.

And so it's all about stability for me now. I want as little to change as possible. We considered switching Lyle to a different preschool for next year (one that would mean *not* having to pay for both preschool and a nanny) and in the end I just said "no" to more change. This is strange for me - I love change. I thrive on change. Bring it on!

But please. After the past 7 years? Let the big things just be as stable as possible for a while.

Despite my current resistance to change, I am making one concession - a virtual move. I am leaving Blogger, which has started giving my commenters a hard time and doesn't allow me to do all that I'd like to do with The Wonderwheel. I have secured my very own web site and am using WordPress for my blog.

So, please, come on over to my new-and-improved Wonderwheel home and join in all the fun on my new site. I'll supply the champagne and chocolate as long as you remember to add the new address to your RSS or bookmarks. (Just try to overlook the bare walls and all the boxes stacked in the corners - unpacking takes time.)

The Recyclery

As long as we're talking about Mother Earth this weekend, I want to share a wonderful discovery we made yesterday.

Baxter and I were both in the market for new bicycles this spring, and so we went up to Evanston (a very short distance from our far north side neighborhood) to check out The Recyclery's Spring Sale. The Recyclery is a nonprofit used bicycle collective, meaning that they fix up donated bikes and give them to those who need them and occasionally sell them super cheap to the public.

To his utter delight, Baxter found this '80s Schwinn "Predator" (perfect for our Cheetah-obsessed boy) that is just his size. And when you only spend $15 on the bike, it's easier to promise a few add-ons, like a comfier seat and a kickstand.

As for me, I ended up with this silver aluminum frame Magna with all kinds of crazy shock absorbers. Between that and the hella cushy seat, all I could think about while I was riding it was the YouTube "Mom My Ride" video (which you really must see if you haven't). It's a Mom Ride all right, but for $65, bring it on.

Aside from the great deals on some kick-ass bikes, this was a fantastic opportunity to talk about the "reuse" part of what some refer to as the "Unitarian Holy Trinity": reduce, reuse, recycle. Baxter is feeling very proud of his 20-year old secondhand bike. I hope he remembers why when his friends show off brand new shiny models, but I don't think I have anything to worry about.

Earth Hour

We are observing Earth Hour tonight, but adjusted it a bit. We started early - at 6:30 - as starting at 8pm would have had no impact whatsoever on the slumbering darlings we wish to teach about being stewards of the earth.

With no computers to lure an adult away, we spent half an hour together in the sun room, being goofy and chatting happily, engaged in such activities as Watching Lyle Put on a Ballet/Tap Dance Show and – always a crowd pleaser - Creating Harry Potter Characters and Artifacts Out of Silly Putty with Baxter. For the next half hour we took to our respective couches and each of us read to one of the kids.

I was struck by the way that the natural darkening of the night sky through our windows brought on a gradual calm in us all. No sudden, “Okay, it’s bedtime!” call tonight. When it was too dark to read, no one questioned that it was time to head off to sleep. We lit a big candle by which the boys brushed their teeth, and off they went. A very relaxing evening.

We have kept the lights and electronics off well into the official 8-9 pm time period. Feeling a little guilty about going to a fully lit establishment at 8:30, I left the house in search of the Starbucks down the block due to the fact that I am far too behind on work to even think of doing anything else, and Matt’s having some friends over tonight to watch a movie and drink White Russians. And whatever else a bunch of hip dads do. (I’m picturing some of them walking in not knowing about Earth Hour and feeling a bit awkward about the romantic, candlelit atmosphere Matt has prepared for them.)

But do you know what I love about my neighborhood? Even the Starbucks employees are supporting Earth Hour. I’m guessing that there are certain corporate non-negotiables around here, like the background music that is probably required by the higher-ups to set that Saturday night coffee shop vibe. But it’s almost pitch-dark in here, with precious few under-cabinet lights on – just enough for them to make drinks by.

So here I sit in the near dark with my laptop running on battery power, looking out at busy Sheridan Road with so very few windows lit in the big apartment buildings, and I think, we really can do this.

We can, can’t we? If we made this effort more often? On a regular basis? Nightly, even? Each of us. It’s not that hard.

I mean, really: if Starbucks can turn down the lights and still bring in a full house, can't we all do more?

Welcome to High School

I had to go to a north side high school yesterday to sign the boys up for summer swimming classes.

(Because they are learning to swim this summer, dammit.)

It was some distance from our house and I hadn't seen it before, but it was a large, lovely campus. Lots of glass windows, newer construction. The guidance office, where registration took place, was a big, well-appointed room with computers for college searches and banners from top colleges all over the country on the walls. In fact, the school is called Northside College Prep High School.

But the fact remains that it is a public high school in one of America's largest cities. And so perhaps I should not have been startled to see this sign posted on either side of the front doors.

It's reality in the city, but hard to imagine my kids as gangly teenagers walking past those signs every day after passing the Chicago Police cruiser that's stationed out front. (Is it always there?)

I'm a strong proponent of public schools. Matt and I put in the effort required to find good ones for our kids in San Francisco and Chicago and have been happy enough with the results. The good far outweighs the not-so-good. But I've always said that I would consider a private school for high school, if need be.

Because if it meant my kids could walk into a school where there were no reminders to check your guns and knives at the door, it might be worth it to me.

Toto, We're Not in San Francisco Anymore...

This is what we woke up to today. In, say, December I'd have said it was lovely. Today? Nah.


Although Baxter's feeling better, he's still coughing pretty horribly on a regular basis and is on a lot of asthma medications. None of us slept well last night, thanks to that cough. This afternoon, Lyle spiked a fever of at least 102 (he refused to continue with the thermometer), which when added to his own cough, makes us pretty sure he's got the flu as well. We have officially canceled all Easter plans for the kids tomorrow, but I still have to go to church because we had been asked to speak to the congregation as part of the Stewardship Campaign (i.e., why we give money to the church). Also I'm leading Children's Worship tomorrow, so I have to be there. A little strange, going to church by myself on Easter Sunday, but I'll just strap on my spring bonnet snow pants and get over it.

On the bright side, our neighbors made this fantastic Easter Snowbunny in our front yard today - pretty cute, huh?


When we moved here, it was summertime. I found people to be almost ridiculously happy about the sunshine and everything related to the season. This year, I totally get it.

Have a great Easter, everyone!

Early Spring by the Lake

The boys and I found our local park by Lake Michigan to be more mucky puddle than play area yesterday, so we headed over to the beach and reacquainted ourselves with its streams, rocks, and the chilly sand of the early season. We also found that the other children had come out of hibernation. I wanted to stay out until dark.

Hope Springs Eternal

This afternoon found the boys and me coming in our front gate after school at the same time as the 6-year old who lives up on the third floor - a boy who Baxter's really been missing this winter. They love to wrestle each other to the ground and play wild games of tag in the front yard.

It was around 50 degrees for the first time in months. As we got a rousing game of tag going (in which I, playing tag in my clogs, had to establish the new rule: "The next one of you who spanks me is automatically IT"), more and more neighbors appeared. In short order, all five kids in our building were out front, and a great neighbor from down the block walked by and came in with her 2-year old and a new baby I hadn't yet laid eyes on. (Because, you know, he was born in the winter, and here in Chicago neighbors go into serious hibernation in the winter, especially with a newborn. I do believe if I'd had one of my children in the middle of a Chicago winter I'd have totally lost it.)

It was a grand way to pass the time, reminiscent of long, sunny spring, summer and fall afternoons spent out there last year. Matt, who was working from home and heard the cacophony, paused to take this photo through the window. It's all of the moms hanging out on the front steps. That's me in the black sweater, warm enough to set aside my winter coat, with one of the neighbor kids lounging on my lap. The kids were all around us, poking at each other with sticks, attempting to dig up the lawn, throwing a Nerf football through the gate repeatedly (that was one of mine, of course), wrestling, playing tag, and relaxing with the adults.

I know we'll see more snow - probably later this week - but now I am sure of it: spring is coming!

Making French Toast with the Boys

As Baxter put it, "At least we didn't break anything..."

(Not unless you count the egg broken all over the counter, no. And, since the glass bowl Lyle threw into the mixing bowl was Pyrex, it didn't break.)

Winter Photos

I was "supposed to" go to the gym today while Lyle was at nursery school. And yet when I left the house this morning, the neighborhood looked so magical. All I could think was, "I need my camera."

And so, when drop-off took a long time (had to get him into his snow pants so that they could go outside and play in the snow first thing!) and then I couldn't find parking anywhere near the gym, I did what I really wanted to do anyway, and headed back home for my camera. Sometimes aesthetics supersedes athletics.

Here is a photo set of my photography walk this morning. All of these photos were taken on the stretch of my block between my house and Lake Michigan, and then down on the beach.

Panhandlers and Parking Lots

"Hey, why didn't you guys give that man money just now?" came the accusing voice from the back seat. "He needed money for food!"

My immediate internal reaction was to recoil in shock: What man? Was there a man panhandling who did not even register with me? Did I just look right through someone? This horrified me until I looked behind us as we drove on and realized that the man Baxter saw was alongside Matt's window and I had been looking through mine. Phew.

Nonetheless, this was difficult to explain to a 7-year old. We tried to talk about how - rather than handing out money to all of the individuals we pass - we give money to social service organizations that provide food, shelter, and other assistance to people in that man's position, and also reminded Baxter of the food drives, the mitten trees, and the social justice activities that we participate in through church.

"So...why didn't you give that man that advice? Why didn't you stop and tell him to go to one of those places?" he demanded further.

This was more difficult to answer.

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She was standing in the dark parking lot when I left the grocery store last night. I didn't see her until she stepped forward, moving towards me and talking softly but urgently to me.

"Please, miss, can you help me?" her eyes were filled with tears. She was embarrassed. "Don't be afraid of me. Now, my name is Cindy, so if anything happens you know my name. I'm not going to do anything wrong or hurt you. I am a single mother of two children and I need some food for my girls. Last time I tried to steal some in there and they caught me. This time I want to do right. I don't want to steal food, but we need something to eat." She repeated her name to me as if handing me the proof of her legitimacy. And maybe she was.

I looked at her. It was unclear whether she had just moments before been kicked out for shoplifting or if this had happened another night. Or ever. "If you go in there tonight, will they let you buy food?" She nodded. I considered the situation. "Okay."

Extremely protective of my belongings, I carefully extracted the cash I had just gotten at the grocery store and handed it to her without ever removing my wallet or any other contents of my hand bag. She asked if she could give me a hug, and I said "Yes", knowing full well that this would be the moment the bag could be wrenched from my grasp for good and the gig would be up. But it wasn't. We hugged tightly and I watched her walk into the grocery store, wondering what she would buy with the money I'd just given her.

Would it truly be food for herself and two children? Would my cash be turned into something else, some substance that might drown her sorrows for another night? Or perhaps she walked into the store and exited out another door with another set of plans in mind altogether.

I'm not ignorant in my compassion. I do spend a lot of my time and we give as much as we can afford to others, but I try to be careful about how I do it. I know I could have accompanied this crying woman into the store and made sure she bought food with the money, but I trusted her somehow and, frankly, that idea felt like adding insult to injury.

This act tonight was not cautious. It was a reckless act. I may well have been conned. But I rely on my intuition and something told me that Cindy - or whomever she was - deserved whatever I could do for her. I wished I could've done more in that moment, but a small act of compassion and a big hug were the best I had to offer.

I did it for her, for whatever was going so wrong in her life, and I did it for her kids - real or fictitious.

And I did it for mine.

Home

One year ago, my friend Cara showed up at our apartment with a plateful of delicious Christmas cookies. They were from her church's bake sale. Cara excitedly shared with us that she and her husband had recently found this fantastic Unitarian Universalist church that happened to be close to where we were living. As she described it to me, I felt that flash of recognition: this is something we need.

We visited Second Unitarian Church the following Sunday; as I've written about before here and here, we found it to be the missing piece. I watched as the Children's Choir walked up to the chancel in their dark pants and white shirts to sing, wishing that my kids were among them.

Today I walked into Second Unitarian Church with a bagful of Christmas cookies that the boys and I had baked yesterday for the bake sale, and I watched with delight as Baxter walked up to the chancel in his new black pants and white shirt to sing with the Children's Choir.

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A year ago this week, Matt and I went out for the first time ever with a realtor to look at condos here in Chicago. On our first day out, we pulled up in front of a beautiful brick 1920s building in Rogers Park, right on Lake Michigan. "This is my first choice for you guys," said our realtor. I looked out the window of his car and took in the wrought iron gate, the stained glass windows, large seasonal planters, and the beautiful fresh greenery and white lights that tastefully adorned the front door. I held my breath. A week later, on Christmas Eve, our offer on that unit had been accepted and we were celebrating.

This weekend I have spent hours in the kitchen of that home, listening to George Winston's December, drinking Celestial Seasonings Gingerbread tea (yum!), and baking Christmas cookies. Cookies that will be given to, among other people, the neighbors who put so much effort into the fresh greenery, white lights, and seasonal planters that have been placed anew out on the front porch of this grand place we call home.

Wordless Wednesday: Compare & Contrast

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