goods and heroes

hanging on

Hi there, Happy Friday. Ben's asleep. Getting him down to take a nap earlier was very much like wrestling an alligator. My goodness. Now I am sitting here in the brisk office just a little disheveled and not quite sure what to do with myself. So I thought I'd avoid my large and looming writing project for the Lurie Garden (which isn't that bad actually, I mean, yesterday I was researching how people celebrate spring . . . not a bad subject to be pouring over on a February morning) and do a quick post. Look, it's either that or going and facing a sink full of cold, cruddy dishes. Okay, blog action wins hands down. Honestly, I am not even sure what to talk about right this moment. But I am here, in the wooden desk chair. I am poised. I am . . . not sure what to talk about.

Well, this morning I received an email from someone who is very dear to me and she has just recently started to keep a journal. And one of the things she is trying to do with the journal is think of good things every day and write them down. She said at first she was trying to think of big things but that was just a little too overwhelming and so now she is starting with little things. A baby's smile. A tree outside the window. And you know what, she has Completely Got It Going On. (I wish I could hand out random awards for people who have Completely Got It Going On, because when you see them or connect with them you just know it instantly.) And she does. Taking stock (even when it's hard and painful) is brave and healthy. I think she might be a little bit daunted or maybe even a teentsy bit shy about writing down such things. But what a quietly beautiful and worthy thing to do. We all need to do it, don't we? I mean, when we don't, we just sort of lose sight. Another girlfriend and I were talking about this yesterday.  Life gets so filled up with so much gunk and noise and it's easy to just forget what the heck is so right and great after all. And don't I know how easy it is to completely hang on to the negative stuff. I am telling you, my great Scot/Scandinavian lineage has me hyper-hard-wired to embrace the dark side. I actually made up a term for this many moons ago. I call it "awfulizing" and I can do it like nobody's business.

So I think I'll sit here and instead of being grumbly about my child who fights naps like an ancient warrior and how time alone is harder to catch than a slippery fish, I think I will try and come up with 5 things that are good this morning. Okay, here goes:

1. How earlier Ben was singing to himself instead of falling asleep. He was laying there nuzzled up to my chest and then in the dark he just started in this very high pitched voice happily crooning "Bah zuh la la la saaah."

2. And then he clapped to himself.

3. Eating cereal with Sam this morning, him eating his Rainbow Rings with his hair all frizzy and unkempt and me, equally frizzled, crunching my granola. We finished at the same time and then both drank the milk out of the little plastic bowls. It was like synchronized milk drinking. We didn't talk much, but it was a scruffy good time.

4. Taking a scalding hot shower for a little longer than I should. Washing my hair.(That's two things in one. I cheated.)

5. Hearing Ted reading "A Very Busy Spider" to Ben as I combed the tangles out of my hair in the bathroom. He was totally getting into the animal voices and it was making Ben giggle with glee. Especially the lamb voice. And the horse voice. They're quite good, Ted's voices. It's a genetic thing, I swear. He even taught Sam how to do a ripping French man's voice. And now Sam makes his friends cackle when he acts like an oddball Frenchman.

Hey, that's five. That was all right. Except I always want to talk more than I should. I suppose this blog is a journal of sorts for me, but I do miss writing things down on paper on a regular basis. I think I need to pick out a new little book to keep in my backpack so I can do just that. Especially the good things. There are so many of them.

Well, thanks for listening to free-form G&H action today. Here's a shot from this blog, it's a blog exclusively about this woman's journals, I stumbled upon it just a few minutes before I started writing this. Kismet, I think. I like that she put "Hang On" there. Don't you just need to whisper that to yourself sometimes? Hang on, it's all going to be okay. Yes it is. It most certainly is.

how to play hooky

Happy post-Thanksgiving. I never got around to posting about what I am thankful for . . . but suffice it to say I am grateful beyond words (or blogging posts) for all the joy and wonder I get from Ted and Sam--and these days, the baby in my belly that kicks and elbows with impressive vigor.

And I am also quite thrilled to have girlfriends who keep my world in perspective, listen to my tales (even if they've heard them before) and share inspirations, worries and their humor.

This morning my friend Sarah called unexpectedly to see if we would like to join her and daughter Sophie on a little adventure to the new-ish Children's Garden at the Morton Arboretum. I was supposed to be going into work, in a very half-hearted attempt to not eat up too much vacation time before the baby comes. But the forecast projected a 61 degree day (in November, in Chicago!) and Ted nodded and nudged and said, "Just go, you'll be so much happier and so will Sam."

So I didn't go to work. Instead, we got dressed and met up with Sarah and Sophie ("we" being Sam and me, Ted stayed home and approached sainthood by de-toxing the scary mildewy shower, doing all of the laundry and sweeping and vacuuming the entire casa . . . ) and headed out to the Arboretum.

The sky was really this blue. The sun felt fantastic on my scalp and it gently warmed my shirt and back.

There were all sorts of things to climb up, on, over and even through at the Children's Garden. And while Sam and Sophie aren't exactly two peas in a pod (more like two head-strong shorties who go in and out of fondness for each other) they did come together quite sweetly when we found ourselves at the stepping stones pond.

Sarah and I were right on the heels of these two, taking our careful but quietly blissful Zen steps on the flat zig-zagging rocks. I suppose we didn't have to. But I am super happy we did.

a lazy saturday

Don't these exquisite breakfast radishes just seal the deal that spring is the most exciting season?

Our friends Heather and Patrick picked them up at the Green City Market this morning, along with fresh greens, spicy arugula and a crusty baguette. And then they joined us in our backyard (along with their two lovely girls, Miss Catherine and baby Elizabeth) to gnosh in a happily, non-hurried, we're-not going-anywhere-soon kind of way. 

Here's my favorite spring "sandwich," which I munched on while standing on the porch, watching Sam and Catherine "read" The Cat in the Hat to each other.

I can think of nothing better to do on a sunny Saturday in May than to sit in our backyard eating fresh greens, potato salad, watermelon, hard boiled eggs, cold meatloaf and enjoying friendship, connections, conversation, a healthy new baby and just simply the day.

And if all this goodness wasn't enough, Heather brought me this beauty of a bouquet of flowers.

And she and Catherine presented me with these completely handmade books for my birthday.

Handmade as in, Heather made them. Heather with a two month old and a two year old at home!  I can't even make my bed lately, much less a book. Wow. The green book is made with two layers of breathtaking silky paper and the wee flower book gets its fetching cover from . . . a recycled Kleenex box. I love it!

Check out the stitching on this.

Heather has promised to teach me how to make one on my own. So stay tuned. And Catherine illustrated the flower book for me. I believe it is the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Of course it is.

We certainly had our own story book sort of an afternoon together. It just reminds me how we all need to break bread together (especially al fresco) more often.

the importance of brunch

Can you call something a ritual if you've only done it three times? I'm not sure, but I know that doing it makes me feel connected and relaxed and vibrant and that, not only am I not alone, I'm actually kind of understood.

I am not referring to yoga or therapy or belly dancing or some support group (well, maybe it is a support group of sorts). I'm talking about brunching. And specifically I'm talking about the three brunches we've had with two families who have children the same age as Sam. The first brunch came about as a result of Sam's birthday party. We had invited his play group buddies Maya and Mollie and their parents, Sarah and Sunny, even though we'd never met either of them before. Prior to the party I got an e-mail from Sarah saying, "Thanks for the invite, we'll be the complete strangers walking casually into your back yard!" And so they came and we met them and we liked them immediately. We just did. (I think I hung out talking with Sarah for a total of 12 minutes but it didn't matter, her sense of humor and wit shone through. And look, finding parents you like and you know your kids like each other, well, I think it's sort of like speed dating. You just gotta make a decision and go with it.)

And our friends Rachel and John and their daughter Estelle were at the party. And Estelle and Mollie and Maya were like three peas in a pod for much of the party and so of course, Rachel and Sarah got to chat while watching them bobble and weave throughout our skinny apartment. And so after the party Rachel, who is good about going with her gut and making things happen called us up and said, "I liked Sarah and Sunny and their girls. Let's get together again sometime."

And so we had brunch at our house. And it was easy and good and our kids played amazingly well together and we lingered at the table, peeling clementines, laughing heartily, kvetching about potty training and local politics. Talking about music and Russia and writing. And so after that initial gathering we brunched at Sarah's and Sunny's. And our children tore through the house and hid behind the couch and we sat around the table gnoshing on bagels and grapes and got to know each other a little bit more and laughed and shared snippets of our everyday scenarios. It was, in a word, lovely. And so we decided to do it again.

And yesterday we gathered at John and Rachel's. It was warm and we all relaxed right into the time we had and our kids moved in and out of rooms and in and out of games and roles ("Be the bad guy1 Arggghh! Eeeeeee!") and we talked food and politics and work and evil Cookie magazine (well, I think it's evil, no one else has seen it yet) and how we all ought to be doing yoga. And I find out that Sam isn't the only one constantly talking about  um, "killing" the bad guys, even though he has no idea what killing means. And we kept talking and the kids kept playing.

Oh, don't let me give you the impression that these are always seamless, flowing, storybook gatherings. We get interrupted by someone who has to pee or someone who has peed and can't get their pants back up, or a squabble over a book or toy or everyone wants Sunny to be the monster or Sam is literally pulling on my arm pleading for a third or fourth piece of chocolate. Or sometimes simply a quiet break is needed to cuddle up with a grown-up to hear a story.

But between all that we have really rocking conversation over really good food.

We're tentatively scheduled to take the next brunch on the road . . . our trio of families plan to explore the exquisite Osaka Japanese Garden on the Wooded Island and then duck into a couple of bookstores in Hyde Park and then pile into the Medici for pizza and chocolate shakes.

Is pizza brunch? I don't know, but for me, these brunches are good.