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.

Musings on a Day at Home

The boys and I stayed home together today, giving Baxter another day of rest. The kiddos stayed in their pj's all day, even when we walked the half block to 7-11 to pick up some eggs for the sugar "flu-kies" we made this afternoon. I am only dressed because I went to the gym early this morning, which was a bit rough after a poor night's sleep. The kids've done very little this spring break week, aside from our Horton Hears a Who outing. In fact, I've done very little myself, or at least it feels that way, and I seem to be in a bit of a time warp. Life is strange when there's no car pool, no nursery school, to give the week its familiar shape. Perhaps it's simply this combination of factors, but I was feeling out of it this afternoon. Fatigued. And I seem to have a bit of a fever tonight. I have an unusually full day at work tomorrow (6 hour-long clients back-to-back without a break - yowza) and hope that I will wake up feeling well enough for it.

But before I turn in early, I have a few observations and photos from my day with the boys today:

1) When left to their own devices for more than 10 minutes, they were able to amuse themselves quite well. At one point, they played a game in which they took turns giving each other a good thwack on the rear end and then laughing uproariously (I tried to figure out how to phrase that to avoid showing up on the freakier Google searches). Next, they were happy to "spit" (more like raspberries) on a piece of construction paper, declare it "Disgusting!" and then pass it to the other brother. Which begs the question: what will the teenage years look like? And one of my favorite games is when Baxter randomly asks, "Lyle, what + what = what?" to which Lyle earnestly starts guessing numbers. "100, Baxter?" - "Nope." - "17, Baxter?" - "No way, Lyle!" I love crazy sibling shit like that.


2) A highlight of my first use of the new Kitchen Aid mixer (which was mentioned in comments earlier today - it was fantastic!) was when I had my back turned and Lyle switched it on - with the mixing blade pointing up, full of the wet ingredients for cookie dough. One word: EVERYWHERE.

3) These boys are being ludicrously kind to each other these days. I think there was only one argument all day, and that was about whether there was enough natural light in the playroom to warrant turning the lights on. Lyle insisted it would be "wasting electricity" and Baxter turned the lights on anyway. High-pitched three-year old screaming ensued. But, really, if there's going to be an argument, I'll take that one.


3) As I mentioned earlier today, it is supposed to snow tonight, tomorrow, oh, and Saturday and Sunday a bit, too. I had to stop, mid-cookie baking, when I saw the sun hitting the tulips like this on our dining room table. I'm going to keep it in my pocket tomorrow to remind me that spring was once here for a short while and will be back.

Spring Break Fun: Horton Hears a Who

It's spring break for the smaller people around these here parts and, although I'm still working this week, today is one of my days off.

We had Big Plans to go to Pump It Up for a rambunctious indoor play date with Lyle's nursery school classmates, but when Baxter was still up coughing last night at 10 pm I realized it was time for Plan B. Now, Plan B had to be good, Wonderfriends*, because there was a lot of pre-asthmatic-coughing excitement built up around Pump It Up. At the same time, Plan B had to involve a certain amount of stillness so as not to aggravate the cough. Tricky combo, that. Matt bailed me out last night from Madison, where he's on his third business trip in as many weeks, by texting the word "movie?"

Score! Movie! And thank God I'd planned ahead, because I was able to present Plan B this morning when the boys climbed into bed with me, Baxter's lip already quivering due to his suspicion that I was going to say a big fat "no" to Pump It Up (I may have hinted at something along those lines when I came in with more medicine late last night). Tears were barely averted - it was only when the words "popcorn" and "candy" were uttered that Plan B became acceptable. Phew!

Our outing to see Horton Hears a Who at the Davis Theater in Lincoln Square was made all the more exciting by the fact that it was Lyle's first visit to a movie theater. It really helped that he was at the Dan Zanes show two days ago and so understood that the seats would tilt and it would get dark. He was a little disappointed, however, that there were no numbers on the movie theater seats - he will probably remember Seat 17 for the rest of his childhood. That was apparently worth the price of admission to the little one.

My expectations of this movie were fairly low, to be honest. As far as I'm concerned, Pixar has set the bar awfully high for kids' movies and I've become a bit of a snob about anything else. Which may be, in part, because I haven't seen anything else halfway decent for kids in a long time. I'm not going to say that Horton Hears a Who was fantastic, but it was perfectly enjoyable. There were some real laugh-out-loud funny moments for all three of us, and Baxter was frequently leaning halfway over the seat in front of him (which, thankfully, was vacant) out of pure excitement. I also heard him say, "Oh, MAN!" quite a few times. Further, I was pleasantly surprised with 3-year old Lyle's ability to sit through this 1.5 hour movie, although I'm not going to lie: the movie popcorn in a small Lyle-sized bag and occasional M&M's really helped. I was pretty sure that he wasn't taking in much more than the snacks and the thrill of the cup holders, but on our way out he was actually able to talk about the movie with us, so I guess he did.

And, you know? Even with the whole "A person's a person no matter how small" and the "we're just people living on a speck on a clover but we are interconnected with the larger universe" thing going on, I didn't cry much at all! So I'm thinking it wasn't that schmaltzy, either, because there was a lot of potential for weepiness in that story, let me tell you.

So, I'm going to go ahead and give it 3 stars and 1 teardrop (out of 5). Go out and enjoy it with your kids.

* Thank you, Cara, for coining the term Wonderfriends in my comments today. LOVE IT!

Dan Zanes = My Hero

Yesterday afternoon found us at the Dan Zanes and Friends show at the Harris Theater here in Chicago. We'd been to a couple of their amazing shows in the past and this was equally wonderful.

Dan Zanes gives off a vibe that resonates with me so strongly: a positive, upbeat attitude about making the world a better place by making music and dancing together...sort of an "it's okay if you sing off-key as long as you're singing" philosophy. It fits right in with my "go ahead and buy the cupcakes" tendency. And his music is fantastic. I don't think of it as "children's music" but rather "family music" in the way that anything can be family music. It's music that I have been known to leave on in the car when the kids aren't with me. The shows are a big party - children and their grown-ups getting down in the aisles and up front in the mosh pit. I can't recommend it highly enough.

If dancing in the kitchen to The Wonderwheel with my kids gets me right here, imagine my reaction listening to it live, dancing with the boys and my niece, and Matt and his sister, and holding Lyle up right in front of the stage to see the instruments and super hip brightly-garbed band, a mere ten feet from Dan himself, crazy hair sticking out so far that I felt we could reach out and give him a big hug and then start jamming on his harmonica and ukulele.

It's moments like these that I look around and have to ask, "How is it possible that no one else here is crying?" It occurs to me that perhaps I'm simply crazy, but I prefer to think that I've learned to allow myself to feel what I feel and I don't bother trying to repress it. And perhaps I tend to be more emotional than average, who knows?

Or maybe I'm crazy. I would never rule that out.

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!

Things to Check Out Today

This is a picture that made me very happy today in a wanting-to-see-McCain's-demise sort of way, and you too can enjoy it right here at The Wonderwheel! (And then head on over to Cindy's blog where I first saw it, because her blog is great. You won't be sorry.) Can you stand four years of our new president slow-dancing with Dubya?

Fired up! Ready to go!

***

I had seen the Free Rice web site discussed elsewhere on The Internets over the past few months, but shied away from it because I'd heard it's so addictive, and you know, who has time for more addictions, even though the UN World Food Program donates 20 grains of rice to help end hunger every time you correctly define a word? But when Susan instructed me to head on over, assuring me that I'd love it, I listened. (Because you just listen to Susan, don't you?) And, hoo boy, it's cool. And addictive.

But I decided that it's okay because then you've donated so many grains of rice, which just has to make up for being a white middle class American with the luxury to waste time online in the middle of a week day. Right? Anyway, if you like words and language, go check it out. It's been a while since I've been this grateful for my three years of high school Latin instruction.

***
And, on a far less cheery note, there is an online letter you too can sign that demands an apology from the CBS network, which aired a clip on its already idiotic "Big Brother" show last week in which one Neanderthal referred to children with autism as "retards". Way to go, CBS. Jeebus.

Tell 'em what you think here. Please!

Roam if You Want to

A weekend away. With friends.

Need I say more? Probably not, but I will anyway.

As I wrote about after our first annual weekend together last February, these are three college friends of mine, all former roommates at one time or another, so we have a history that goes back a rather frightening 19 years now. Last year's gathering was a catching-up time, a time to reconnect after quite a few years, for some of us. A great deal of growing up had taken place in the intervening years, and a lot of hard stuff was going on for some of us. Last year's weekend was, well, cathartic, I'd say. This year we were all on terra firma, more or less. That's not to say that we've got it all figured out (whatever that would look like) but we've made strides; let's put it that way.

We were able to just hang out. Went shopping, ate great meals. (I mean, really great.) Took a walk down memory lane by visiting our alma mater (which has become quite the yuppified institution since we attended it in the early 90s, let me tell you, although I should say that some things haven't changed), and stopped in on some of our favorite haunts nearby. I bought myself a cozy college sweatshirt. Enjoyed "Definitely, Maybe" quite a bit. Celebrated the little girl due in just 10 weeks, the eighth child among us. We drank a lot of coffee and I slept until 8:30 each morning. And best of all, we talked and talked and talked. It was less than a 48-hour visit for a variety of reasons, but that was okay. Next year we're committed to gathering for all three days again, but this was enough for now. Really.

I have an unusual amount of travel ahead of me in the coming months. Leaving home for a weekend is not completely easy with such young children at home, and having reasons to do so four months in a row feels rather excessive. But my family was fine without me. Better than fine, really. They all had a wonderful weekend. And the good it does me to get away a bit, find some space to breathe and be with friends, and drink coffee and talk? Well, it's a world of good.

During the cab ride home from the airport, the B52s song "Roam" came on the radio. An old favorite. As we drove up Lake Shore Drive with the dark, icy outline of Lake Michigan to the east and the gorgeous, twinkling skyline of Chicago lit up to the west, I celebrated these opportunities I have to roam a bit. And I decided that - as long as it's done thoughtfully and involves a great deal of joy about returning home - roaming is just what this Mama needs to do sometimes.

{Photo taken with my iPhone on Friday night's flight to Minnesota. Apologies to Cara for never managing to get a shot that included both of her eyes.}

Life After Vacation

It's a common question after a long break: "How's everyone adjusting to getting back into the routine?" For some of my family members, this has been easy to answer.

"Lyle was beyond thrilled to see his babysitter again, and he was happy to get back to nursery school, too."

"Baxter seemed to jump right back in and was glad to see his friends."

"Matt was counting the minutes until he could go back to work and put an end to the non-stop activity and socializing. I've never seen someone so happy to go back to work!"

But I've been avoiding answering this question for myself this week. That's mostly because I don't want to scream loudly at the friendly people who are making small talk with me.

I loved seeing all the kids I work with, and my colleagues. I enjoyed talking to the families about how the break went for their kids and hearing both the successes and the horror stories. All of that was great and very satisfying. I missed those parts of my work when I was away.

But it's the pace. The pace, and the amount of work I need to do daily to stay afloat. And the fatigue, especially on the days I've been to the gym before work. Those things, and running in so many directions every day. By last night I was sitting at my desk in the darkening clinic, unable to get myself motivated to pack up, clean up the toys in the clinic, and drive home to spend the evening with my sweet but loud and boisterous boys, only to work at my desk after they go to bed and then go back and work all day again today.

In the end, I didn't go back in today, because I'm not feeling well this morning. I don't know if I'm coming down with something or if this is just complete and utter exhaustion, but I am out of energy and feeling lousy.

Here's what I was contemplating on my drive home last night: would it be better to a) take the night off and read a great book lying on the couch by the fireplace? or b) get the work done that needs doing today so that it doesn't keep piling up on me, causing total overwhelm in another day or two? As enticing as choice (a) was, I chose (b); I am too wary of the overwhelm because it leads to such major procrastination and more stress in the end. But then, when do I get a break? I'm not looking for a long break, just an evening to myself. On Saturday, when I'm not feeling well and stuck here in bed? That's not quite it, either.

So what do you do? Do you just put it all aside so that you get some rest, even knowing that it'll make tomorrow worse for you? Or do you keep on truckin', opting for the steady sound of check-marks on your to do list?

Please, I'll take any and all insights.

True Confessions of a Late-Night Reader

I'm having, you know, just a wee bit of difficulty keeping to my New Year's resolution to get more sleep. You can call it lack of will-power - or, perhaps, ambivalence - but I am blaming it on the really, really good books I've been reading lately.

You see, for Christmas I received Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs - I mean, seriously, folks, this book is uniquely compelling. "Will this kid actually survive his own childhood? Is it possible for so many people, all these families, to be this dysfunctional? Turn the page to find out, because it is about to get worse!" I loved reading about this family from the perspective of the other sibling - his older brother is John Elder Robison who wrote the wonderful Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger's which I reviewed here last fall. Very talented brothers, those two. I'm not sure if Running with Scissors ended up more heavily weighted on the hilarious side or the heartbreaking side (probably the latter), but it was well-written and kept me reading long past my new-and-improved bedtime, whatever that's supposed to be. (Hmm, maybe that's my problem!) The day I finished this book I stopped at Black Oak Books in San Francisco and picked up another of his books.

But then, the next one I read (also a Christmas gift) was The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. Holy moly, have you read this book? If not, go out and pick up a copy - you won't be sorry. Amazing story, beautiful writing. What a tale. I learned more about Afghanistan from that book (and A Thousand Splendid Suns, which I read recently by the same author - also an excellent read) than from any other source. I am now extremely frightened by photos of the Taliban, which is an appropriate response, let me tell you. When I got to the last quarter of The Kite Runner, I couldn't put it down. I ended up reading it well past 1:00 AM on Saturday morning to finish it. I cannot remember the last time that I read the conclusion of a book sitting up in my bed in the middle of the night, hand half over my exhausted eyes out of fear for the protagonist. This, like Running with Scissors in its own completely different way, was a story of survival and redemption.

Page-turners, I tell you. They'll keep you up past your bedtime. And that's a very, very good thing.

****

And now it's time for an Internet vote! Which of these books on my nightstand shall be next? Submit your vote now (quick!)

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

or

Where I Lived, and What I Lived For by Henry David Thoreau

The Other Shoe

We so clearly remember how we felt when Baxter was three, Matt and I. So many things – parenting things – became hugely easier for us around that time. It’s true, I’ve written here before about the sea change in emotional energy in parenting a three- or four-year old. However, to us, having a three-year old meant a greater sense of equilibrium in other ways: Baxter was sleeping well (and therefore we were better rested), he was in preschool part of the time (oh happy days!), was potty-trained, and he had real friendships that we enjoyed watching blossom. We discovered that he was a cinch to travel with, and far more flexible than we’d previously known him to be. I think that we remember these things so clearly because they were our arguments at the time against having another child.

A friend once told me, “It’s much easier to have another child before you’re out of the fog. You might as well stay in the fog until you’re done having kids, because going back into the fog once you’ve been out of it is very hard.” She was right.

I have never envied the early years for parents with kids closer together than ours, but I always saw how much easier things got for them around the time the younger child was 18-24 months old and the siblings played together much of the time. Those parents often seem to be in the fog for a few solid years and then emerge victorious, cheerful, and relieved to be sleeping again, feeling human. Oh, and typically with kids who entertain each other for long stretches of time!

As you know, in the end we did finally make the conscious but difficult decision to step back into the fog, and once Lyle was born we never regretted it. It may be overly obvious, but we can’t imagine our family without him.

On this vacation – which I am now ready to call a vacation because that’s what it has actually felt like – we are suddenly aware once again of being out of the fog. Lo and behold, we have a three-year old who is a cinch to travel with, is potty-trained, and is more flexible. He’ll sleep squished next to his brother on the floor in sleeping bags one night and then in a queen sized bed with him the next. He can miss his nap when visiting friends and not melt down. The contrast between this trip and the same one at this time last year – which midway through we realized had to be renamed immediately as a trip (a time to see loved ones) rather than a vacation – is stunning.

For days, I have silently waited for the other shoe to drop. The night I had a very sore throat last week I was sure I was getting Matt’s strep infection of two weeks ago. When my stomach was off, I had to be getting Baxter’s stomach bug. But no. Granted, Baxter did get sick the day before we were to leave and we had to put our trip off by a day. But, really, in the scheme of things (read: last year), that was small potatoes. Since we’ve been here, we have all stayed healthy, well-enough-rested, and cheerful. The boys’ flexibility has astounded me. We’ve been able to squeeze in every little visit with friends and family that we’d hoped for, because not only were we doing fine, so was everyone else. (I guess everyone’s kids are growing up!) Matt and I have been able to stay in San Francisco for two extra nights while the boys are partying with my parents down in Pacific Grove. We are relaxed and rested, and have had ample time with friends and each other. Oh, and to lie on the couch under warm blankets and read new books!

There are moments when I’m nostalgic for the days when we had a baby or toddler around the house, but the older the boys get, the fewer and farther between those nostalgic moments become.

If this is the beginning of the next stage, bring it on!

Let's Sleep Away the New Year!

Do you want to know one of the best things about this vacation?

(I thought so.)

I have been reintroduced to the concept of sleep. Actual sleep! Okay, so my eyes still pop open at 6 am every day with or without the kids, but the difference is, I have been going to bed at a decent hour! Like 10 pm! None of this late-to-bed and then up-at-the-crack-of-dawn crap.

It being the time of year for such things, you might think you feel a resolution coming on.

But instead of making a formal declaration, I think I'll just head off to bed.

From Where I Sit

From where I sit in the early morning, huddled under an aging green fleece blanket by the large, drafty, front window of my friend’s apartment on 21st Avenue, I hear the gulls screeching their way down Judah. They seem to follow the streetcar out to the Pacific like so many screaming, swirling children. If I glance over my shoulder, I take in a long line of row houses in various shades of yellow, pink, blue, and beige. Thick coils of unattractive power lines criss-cross from one enormous street light to the other and then dart over to the houses themselves, bringing the power required to light the Christmas trees and yellowish front porch lights, clouded with spider webs. There is no grass in this view, only city sidewalks. The more attractive homes boast shrubbery or unusual small trees out front. There are no large, leafy deciduous trees, other than what can be seen of the beautiful foliage in Golden Gate Park, peeking over the rooftops, located just two blocks south.

I distinctly remember seeing this neighborhood for the first time when Matt and I moved to San Francisco in 1997; I found it aesthetically displeasing to say the least. A friend of mine likened it to some strange world in a Dr. Seuss book – and she had spent her life in Berkeley, just across the Bay. Ironically named the Sunset neighborhood - being the foggiest piece of land of San Francisco - it did boast more affordable rentals, proximity to the park, and an impressive business district around 9th Avenue and Irving Street filled with fantastic cuisine, excellent coffee, and wonderful independent shops. So when Baxter was a little over a year old and we realized that raising a child in Marin County (where I was working) did not suit us, we found a relatively (for San Francisco) affordable 2-bedroom here in the Sunset. And this is the neighborhood we happily called home until moving to Chicago eighteen months ago.

This window I sit by, it could easily be overlooking the last street we lived on in this neighborhood, which is 5 blocks directly east. It’s even located in the same spot on the west side of the street. We have had the mind-blowing good fortune of staying here – rather than a hotel - while my friend is on a ski trip with her husband; they are allowing us to use their flat as a home base for the San Francisco portion of our California vacation.

And so we walk by the school where Baxter went to kindergarten on our way to a favorite restaurant or to visit friends who still live just a couple of blocks away. Matt sees the school’s garden, completed, and marvels over all that has been created around some large rocks he once volunteered to haul over to that part of the playground, where visionaries planned a garden that didn’t yet exist. Until now.

With the kids back down at my parents’ for a couple of days without us, Matt and I walk down Irving St. and express delight over tiny shops that are somehow still in business, and shock over old favorites that no longer exist. Quietly, we take in new awnings and business logos. We eat dinner in a fabulous new restaurant that just months ago was a favorite cafe, sitting now at a table that has a familiar view of the park but has been completely transformed. Looking out at the same intersection of 9th and Lincoln while eating beautifully prepared fresh fish instead of a scone and a latte.

And so, as I sit under this green blanket and listen to the familiar N-Judah roar by, seagulls screeching in its wake, I am acutely aware of what San Francisco is to me now. It’s a beautiful city full of friends, family, and memories. But also a place where I now have an almost constant inner struggle: how can I take in all that is new - and simultaneously appreciate all that is old?

If I were a person who was purely fueled by nostalgia, I would have refused to go into that fish restaurant last night; there was a part of me that resented the café for closing down, for not warning me in Chicago that this was going to happen, and somehow blamed the restaurant for my loss. It’s easy to resent the sense of surprise we feel about the changes that occur in a beloved city that we only visit once or twice a year. But we’d heard that it’s a great new restaurant – friends in the neighborhood are excited about it – and when I stopped to think about it, I realized that at the end of the day, I would prefer to grow and change right along with San Francisco.

Even from afar.

VACATION TIME!

Do you hear the whoops and hollers coming from the snowy, cold flatlands of Chicago?

That would be us.

Because it's VACATION!! You hear?! Christmas. Vacation.

Today I worked my arse off for hours getting paperwork done at the clinic so that I can truly leave work behind for two weeks - did you hear that? Me! Not working for two weeks!

We were invited to the home of neighbors-who-are-becoming-friends for dinner tonight (they are conveniently located across the hall) and friends-who-happen-to-be-neighbors tomorrow night (located across the alley). There is so much that is great about this, not the least of which is not having to cook on these nights before our big trip. But do you know what I decided might possibly be the actual best part about these dinners? The fact that I can wear YOGA PANTS to both of these gatherings. Ahhhh, the comfort of yoga pants and a big warm sweater in wintertime.

I am so happy right now.

(Can you tell that I already had some celebratory wine? And we haven't even gone a-visitin' yet!)

This Sunday we'll be taking off for California at 7:30 am and we'll be in sunny, 60 degree weather by 10 am Pacific Time. We'll stay with my parents in Pacific Grove (about 2.5 hours south of San Francisco) at the beginning and end of our 10-day stay; we were offered lodging at my friend's apartment in our old neighborhood in San Francisco for a few days in the middle. Matt and I are filled with nostalgia as we plan a few days with the kids back in our old stomping ground. We are completely booked with time to be spent with old friends - these visits are well-organized around meals at our favorite restaurants. Then my parents will take the boys back down to Pacific Grove for two nights, and Matt and I will spend that time on our own in the beautiful city where we lived together for almost 10 years. We can hardly believe our luck.

At the moment we're consumed with which favorite French restaurant we should call for New Year's Eve reservations.

So I'll be trying to hide my shiny new Chicago accent (that's another post!), "brushing the sauerkraut out of [my] hair" as Matt hilariously suggested this week, and heading back to California. In an unheard-of nod towards relaxation, I am leaving my laptop at home. If I need to read blogs or post something, I can always use someone else's computer.

I have no idea if you'll hear from me every day or not at all over the next couple of weeks. But wish us luck traveling in the winter and over the holidays with these young boys - and pray for me that it might feel more like a vacation than it did last year.

I really need it.

My Guys Do Christmas

Some fantastic combination of dessert, XM Radio's Christmas channel, and pre-Christmas insanity took over all three of my guys tonight. Thankfully, the video camera was handy. Enjoy!

Why Church? Part One: "For Time to Think"

[This dramatic new mini-series is introduced here.]

I know I'm not the only one out there who is leading a life that could only be described as hectic. (And some of you are ahead of me on the ole hectic-o-meter!) So imagine for a moment being given the opportunity to sit. With your partner. Without your children. And just listen. And think. For. An. Hour. About really interesting topics. Like forgiveness in your relationships, honesty in your marriage, the importance of having real dreams and working towards them, social justice. And hearing good music, and getting a chance to sing (something I love and haven't done much of in years), and even enjoying a quiet moment here and there. Ah, the quiet.

There is something about this combination of peace and quiet, a thoughtful sermon, and nice music that really gets me. Most weeks, the themes lead us to consider how we choose to spend our lives - looking at the bigger picture of the world and our impact on it - and this always fills me with emotion about my work. I feel so very lucky to have work that I love and that I can feel proud of; work that is having a positive impact on children and their families.

In the day to day grind, it's easy to get lost in the drudgery of paperwork and scheduling, or to worry about whether work is encroaching too far into my time with my family. But when I sit in church, I am given the time to be filled with elation for the kids who are suddenly making big changes; sadness for the boy we said good-bye to last week because he is moving; concern for another family going through a transition. I am very emotionally tied to these children and their families, and when I have this chance to sit and catch my breath, my feelings are overwhelming. For the most part, it's joy I'm feeling as I think about how amazing these kids are and how hard everyone is working to help them become their best selves.

Add to this some meaningful music, and I end up in tears nearly every week. I was already knee-deep in emotion after the sermon today and then the congregation sang John Lennon's "Imagine", and that was it for me. I couldn't even sing it.

Then we sang the beautiful "Siyahamba", a South African gospel song. ( Click here for a sound clip. Not of us, mind, you.) I love this song, having become familiar with it on the Dan Zanes Night Time album back when Baxter was about 2 years old (if you don't have this, run to pick one up!). Baxter's good friend Lucy (the one hugging him in the princess gown photo) claimed "Siyahamba" as her favorite song back in those days (do you remember this, Stacy??), and I remember watching her at the Dan Zanes show that year when they sang it, and tearing up at the time over her rapt 2-year old expression upon hearing this song performed live. Needless to say, I hate when this gorgeous song is part of our service at church because I can only cry at that memory, which then triggers the really big tears over missing Lucy and her family, these wonderful friends who are back in California.

Do you see where I'm going with this? By the end of church, I was a serious crying mess. And today wasn't the first time.

While this is somewhat embarrassing, I clearly need an outlet for all these feelings: for the children who are moving forward, for those who are struggling, for my own kids, for thoughts of our faraway loved ones. And I'm sure there were tears of stress in there somewhere, too.

And I guess what I'd venture to ask is, don't many of us need that? Couldn't we really, truly use a time that is set aside to sit quietly, listen to something inspiring and thoughtful, and be allowed to actually feel the full range of emotions that we experience in a sometimes-shallow way as we're running hither and yon each week? I mean, I love to hang out in my jammies with the kids as much as the next mom, but this is something I really need in my life.

This was the very first thing that I came to appreciate about going to church on Sundays.