The Daily Fuss

Tour de Fuss

We moved to Highland Park from the city just under one year ago. We spent the several weeks after the move unpacking and painting and basically ignoring (or maybe just not fully appreciating) the most annoying phenomenon in our glorious suburb.

I'm referring to the goddamn bikers.

I don't hate them based on the numbers. In fact, I'm not overly bugged by the throngs of helmet-capped heads out and about on the weekends - sweating profusely all over their $3000 racing bikes that never make it out of second gear.

It doesn't really bother me that they all appear to be over 55 and aren't in the appropriate physical shape for even the most leisurely of bike rides.

I don't even care much that every last one of them is decked out in full tour de France regalia. I mean honestly, it would be like me putting one of those shrinky-dink bus wrap ads on my car to take a relaxing drive up LSD on a Sunday.

Truthfully, I hate them because they don't obey a single rule of the road. I'm not even sure they realize how ridiculously dangerous it is to NOT stop at an uncontrolled intersection no matter the mode of transportation.

I would love to pull up alongside one of these posers and say "Love your jersey. You must have to kick some serious biker ass to get sponsored by Energizer." Unfortunately, none of these inconsiderate a-holes bothers to stop at a sign or light allowing me to strike up a candid conversation about how their alleged "sponsorship" is tantamount to my 5'9" dad showing up for a pickup game in the "hood" wearing a Jordan jersey circa 1998.

Admittedly, Highland Park boasts some of the most beautiful trails in the area. Still, that fact alone cannot excuse the hoopla and utter weirdness that brings me a daily dose of frustration, April - October.

Turning Two Part I: Party Prep

Leighton turned two last week. I would tell you that it was a slightly amped up version of a regular day, but nothing about this birthday (or the weeks leading up to it) was regular. Amped up ... definitely. Regular ... not so much.

I do everything big. I set lofty goals and get after them. Quitting is not an option. Ryan and I spent the previous several weeks killing ourselves to wrap up some lingering renovation to-do's so that the forty-seven people that RSVPd "yes" to the birthday party we threw on Sunday could see the joint without wondering in earnest why we'd buy such a house in the first place.

Leighton's spring break started friday of the previous week. Apparently, Montessori toddlers need a week long spring break. So, my in-laws thankfully came to help us get ready for the party. They arrived just in time for me to hand the girls over so I could run to the doctor. Joy.

Leighton was already sick and Mairin was looking worse for the wear with each passing moment. It was only fitting that I be stricken with a sinus infection while trying to paint trim, plan the menu, rearrange furniture and clean with T-minus three days to go. I've had a cold since October so when my stuffy nose reached a new level of painful congestion, I knew I needed pharmaceutical assistance.

I felt guilty trying to hurry Leighton off to bed every night so we could continue painting and hanging pictures and doing all of the housey things that needed doing - like I wasn't present in the moment for weeks. And, Ryan was in Canada on business for two days the week of this party. I felt like an even worse parent for not being able to get a toddler and infant to bed simultaneously with my husband out of town. I cried three times and yelled at Leighton for throwing a temper tantrum.

Noteworthy: Picking a fight with a two year-old is entirely ineffective.

I held it together throughout the rest of the week with help from all four grandparents. By Sunday, I could hardly move. I barely had the presence of mind to snap a few pictures. When my mom walked in the door, she got right to work and I became useless. I think I was so relieved when she asked me if she could help put the food out, I just let her take over.

Thirty-five pounds of barbecue, forty-seven guests, sixty cupcakes, a billion presents and one missed nap later, we had hosted a rockin' toddler birthday bash.

It's the kind of fun you almost never want to have again.

Blizzarre

Tonight, we're staying at a Marriott in the city, near the hospital, just in case Little Sis decides to join us smack in the midst of the worst snowstorm Chicago has seen in years.

There is absolutely no way I would give up my OB or voluntarily deliver anywhere other than Prentice just because I live in the suburbs. Not a chance. So, Marriott it is.

My due date was yesterday. Well, my first due date - the one the doctors give based on how you're measuring. By my own witchdoctory estimation, my real due date is somewhere between February 4th and 8th, but I liked the 31st way better, for obvious reasons, so I went with it.

Admittedly, it felt somewhat bizarre to leave my freshly feathered nest to stay at a hotel in my very own city, against the advice of all local and cable weatherpersons characterizing the impending snowfall as a wintry armageddon. And by the looks of the empty grocery store shelves and line at the pump, the seventh seal was breaking as we buckled our seat belts and fired up the Jeep to head down. Apparently, the National Guard has been mobilized. Awesome.

Luckily, we left in time to avoid much of the traffic pick-up and made it to our room before the conditions completely deteriorated into a windy, snowy, freezing mess. Ryan is at the gym whilst I type, then we're off to Kamehachi for a sushi dinner. It's likely to be a relatively uneventful evening unless we turn on The Weather Channel - then we're back to apocalypse talk, but we're packed and ready for our new delivery anyway. In fact, I'm hoping my water breaks right after dinner. 

We put quite a bit of effort into preparing for Little Sis in just the last few weeks. I finally hung things on the walls, cleared out the third bedroom, ordered the cord blood collection kit, paid the bills, compiled tax documents, took the life insurance physical, laundered everything we own, ordered baby provisions, cleaned the Medela pump and bottles, outfitted the crib, cleaned the basement, tiled the kitchen backsplash and the half-bath floor, tuned up the Jeep, charged the camera batteries, changed the sheets, loaded up at the grocery store, mailed the returns, put bedding on the cradle and crib and had Ryan take a picture of my hugely pregnant self on the way out the door.

Holy crap! I forgot to pack clothes for Little Sis! What a jackass! Oh well. Someone can certainly bring her little bag if she decides to come today or tomorrow. I honestly JUST realized my oversight this very second and I feel terrible about it. My little deuce is already getting screwed in ways my first born did not. It's inevitable, I suppose.

Leighton and Luella are acutely aware that something's up and they're acting out accordingly with temper tantrums, barking at shadows, dancing on furniture and "forgetting" to call potty - both of them. It's a super attractive scenario at our house right now. Thank the sweet lord for Grandma!

Even if the storm passes with no sign of Little Sis, a night out of the house in a comfy hotel during a spell of extreme Chicago weather is not exactly a punishment for us. Still, we are holding out hope that a sudden drop in barometric pressure urges the newest member of our family out of her cozy little spot tout suite.

Come on baby!

Mee-Nee-Ban

You may recall the consternation caused by our family's need for a new car that fits a tall dad, picky mom and two tiny chicks in car seats. 

I was so irritated by the whole, preliminary, car shopping ordeal that I went into denial about it and was such a waddling whiner at every dealership we entered that I left it to Ryan to boil the options down to two before I got involved.

He actually banned me from joining him at one point - no lie.

Ryan was online, every night, checking specs and consumer reports and message boards and blogs, desperately wanting to avoid the minivan at all costs.

When he came to me with the inevitable "Odyssey-or-Sienna" final decision, I didn't say "told-you-so". I just said, "I'm fine with either one." Admittedly, on the inside, it was more of a "WOO HOO! We're gittin' a minivan." Or, as Leighton calls it, her "Mee-Nee-Ban." It's like she's put a cute little Cuban spin on it.

Only the minivan can do what this family needs a vehicle to do. We need sliding side doors, room for two car seats (or five if need be), third row, remote ignition, back up camera, USB hookup, blue tooth, a zillion airbags, latch systems, room for luggage, comfy ride with lots of space. Nothing else made the cut.

So, we went with the 2011 Honda Odyssey. It looked a little odd from the outside, at first, and there's a little less room in the interior than the Sienna, but it's super slick, handles like a car and I wouldn't trade it for the world. I will say that I get passed more frequently in the minivan - regardless of my speed. I guess other drivers (mostly impatient city-folk) just figure I'm a dumb-ass minivan driver and do their best to stay away from me. Admittedly, that had always been my feeling.

I'm a whiz with the key remote - I have the car running with doors opening as I approach my transport. I can get Lei in and out quickly and have even less of an issue going to the grocery store because I get to play with the back hatch, automatic opener for the bag-loader guys at Sunset.

The only thing we decided to skip was the entertainment package. I know. You're thinking "WHAT? Are you crazy?" We try not to let Lei watch too much TV, but she does like movies. And it's annoying enough that she knows the Annie soundtrack is on the iPod Touch in the car. She's like a little dictator. I'll be damned if she's going to watch Annie or Toy Story 3 or anything else every time we get in the car. I'd rather talk to her or play her Music Together tunes.

If we need movies for a long road-trip, we'll just hang an iPad off the back of my seat for little Lei.  That way, we can remove it when we're done and have it on reserve for special occasions ONLY. I know it seems like the most obvious feature for kids, but we felt differently about it at the end of the day - that it would do more harm than good to include it.

So there you have it - one more way we have slipped further into suburbia. However, this slip was a good one and didn't take much adjustment on my part. The only problem is that now, I look positively drunk trying to back the Jeep out of our driveway without a backup cam. Oh well. If you see me, just mutter under your breath (dumb-ass minivan driver). I won't be offended at all.

Sharing

Who knew? I woke up this morning and it's ... October. There just isn't enough time in any given day to do the things that need to get done, much less enjoy life to it's fullest potential.

That's not to say that a lot hasn't happened since my last post. We're making slow, but steady progress on the house. I closed another quarter at work with way too much travel. Leighton has gotten completely into the groove at school. We recovered from the stomach flu. We're enjoying the neighborhood. We saw pictures of our little girl on the way ... and she looks EXACTLY like Leighton as far as we can tell. 

This brings me to the overwhelming sentiment of the last month. GUILT.

For my husband and Leighton, I've been gone more than usual, I'm pregnant and exhausted. For baby number two, I still haven't made it to my 20 week checkup and finally snuck in for the ultrasound on thursday at the end of week 22. That SO would not have happened with Leighton. I couldn't wait to have a peek at her. I would have taken the day off just to be sure I didn't miss it.

For shame.

I'm an only child. One mom, one dad, one kid. It makes perfect sense to me. As an only child, I was always one third of the family vote. Having more than one child feels somewhat unnatural to me. I can't imagine having two kids share my time and attention, basically because I never had to. Everyone I know has stories of the older sibling trying to whack the younger newbie with a blunt toy of sorts, or asking mom and dad "when can we take her back?" I'm imagining that the very moment Leighton realizes Little Sis is ours forever will be a sad one. I can't help it.

Today's world makes it that much more difficult for me to conceptualize having multiple kids from a logistical standpoint. Ryan and I both work, and we're sticklers about the 7pm bedtime - no later than 7:30. Pediatricians say toddlers need 12 hours at night and a two hour nap. We agree and, with some scheduling, we make it work. But, it's a pain in the ass for both of us to hustle to make that happen. It's a huge committment.

Ryan leaves work right at 5. I'm usually already home, so I start dinner for Leighton, get her fed, bathed and ready for the wind-down routine to kickoff when daddy walks in the door at 6:10. We sing, read, brush and wash and talk about our day. Then Ryan makes dinner for the two of us while I put Lei down for the night. We watch some TV, hang out a bit and then try to get to bed by 10pm to do it all over again.

I have no clue how I'm going to squeeze clockwork feedings and naps into a new routine. What if Lei wakes up the baby? What if the baby wakes up Lei? What if Lue barks or the phone rings or any one of a multitude of other things happens to upset my delicately balanced apple cart? Welcome to life for the next handful of years.

And that's just sleep! We work hard to eat healthy, organic food across the spectrum. We don't watch much TV. We always have activities lined up. THAT also takes planning. By the time Little Sis is born, we'll all be eating frozen dinners in front of the TV at 10pm every night. The prospect terrifies me.

Maybe we can swing it for the first few months, but I can't even think past maternity leave.

As I have mentioned ten thousand times, Ryan and I both work. Even once the girls reach school age, school ends BEFORE business hours. What the hell? Around here, there isn't really convenient after care - you have to pay a nanny to pick your kid up at one place and wither take them home, or to a secondary location for a few hours of half-assed attention.

Moms overwhelmingly appear to stay at home in Highland Park, so I'm likely making my way toward outcast, but there's nothing I can do about it. Even with sports, practice starts right after school and somehow, kids need to make it to practice, ON TIME.

We can make all of this work, and we will. I know there are plenty of people who have much more to deal with than I do. Still, I can't help approach baby number two with some guilt about the fact that her baby book might have half the pictures Leighton's does, or that I'll get to spend half the time with her that I spent with Lei in the first year, or that I'll get to spend half the time with Leighton that I would have if we hadn't had another baby at all.

Hopefully, Leighton will love her little sister to pieces and learn the gift and art of sharing - something that as an only child, has taken me thirty four years to appreciate.

Howdy Neighbor

I've been on the neighborhood ladies email list for two weeks and, in that time, a few emails have buzzed around. One even had an attachment, it just took time for me to dig around in my personal email and open it.

I finally had a few spare moments today to sift through the latest sales and Southwest getaways, reply to Evites or delete copious offers for vitamin supplements. For me, it's the electronic equivalent to the Sunday paper inserts. You know ... funmail.

I eagerly opened the flyer attachment from the most recent neighborhood ladies email only to find that Las Toberfest (I have no clue where the name came from) was this past Saturday. Sadly for me, everyone attends this soirre and, according to one of the two neighbors I actually know, I should "never miss Las Toberfest."

Ooops. How was I supposed to know that my neighborhood chickadees would celebrate something that sounds remotely like "Octoberfest" in August?

As the newbie, I was naturally looking forward to meeting the rest of the gals on my block. Being the proverbial new girl is not generally a big deal. However, I am somewhat self-conscious in this particular instance because we bought the house months ago, tore it up, put most of it back together and just recently moved in. Speculation about the new Freemans has been swirling down the street for some time now.

In the context of a suburban neighborhood community curiosity, I am the most highly scrutinized type of new girl. I'm the new girl who decided that this year we'll focus on renovating the interior of the house and next year we'll tackle the exterior and landscaping - the part of the house that everyone sees. Everything we've done for the past several months begs the question ... What the heck are they up to in there?

I'm the new girl who's had a dumpster parked in her driveway for several weeks at a stretch since April. I'm the new girl who had a carpenter set up on her front lawn making a noisy, dusty mess.

I'm the new girl who (even after a month since moving in) still has a hundred pounds of corrugated cardboard bound up on her curb for the recycling truck every monday.

I'm the new girl who hit an all-time, hillbilly low in early July when our Jeep was stuck on our lawn for several hours one suffocatingly hot, friday evening. It was on that very day Ryan I decided that the good folks in our new neighborhood were wagering on whether or not we had full sets of teeth or were related to one another or said things like "git 'er done" or would one day shoot the racoons right off the top of them there garbage cans. Varmints!

We have a one-car garage and thusly, a one-car width driveway. We also live on a no parking street. With contractors and family members coming over to deliver things, haul things away and help us in general, it was occasionally just easier to roll right up on the lawn next to the driveway for a brief spell.

Unfortunately, our model of Jeep Grand Cherokee had a tempermental steering column/ignition pin lock and if you turn the wheel after parking you can apparently break the whole damn thing. This very scenario played out with us looking like complete hilljacks - our Jeep parked (cockeyed, as Ryan will point out) in the middle of the yard long after the help had gone home.

AAA sent a service truck out to have a look. After thirty seconds, the driver said, "The ignition's busted. I can tow it to a shop for you. Should be fixed by monday. Or .... I could call my uncle. He can probably help you tonight." Yep. His uncle.

While we waited for the only, living, willing, repair guy who could install a new ignition on site at nine pm on a friday, we made vain attempts to unlock the steering column ourselves using random suggestions drudged up from the bowels of the internet by the Google-machine.

Please try to picture one of us jumping up and down on the front bumper while the other violently jerks the stiff wheel back and forth. These sad, turf-destroying efforts came in short bursts because it was too damn hot for human beings to carry out this ridiculous exercise for any extended period of time. By the time help arrived, the wheel was in an unusual position. "You never want your steering wheel stuck completely upside down" the helpful master of the obvious told us, as he busied himself in the portable garage that was his utility van.

People who point out the obvious usually make me nuts, but this guy installed a new ignition for us faster than you could say "chop shop" so I just can't bring myself to hate him for it. It barely even weirds me out that this alleged "uncle" didn't seem much older than the AAA driver who had led us to him. Once our precious transport was back in the driveway where she belonged, I was nothing other than entirely grateful and relieved.

Let me just say that if the neighborhood folk somehow overlooked the weeks and months of renovation hoopla at our house, there was little chance they missed the car parked on our lawn during prime time on a friday night. Las Toberfest was a golden opportunity for me redeem the Freemans before the whole hood - a shot at showing them how hilariously, brilliantly normal we are, and I BLEW it. 

Damn you, ill-named and inappropriately-timed Las Toberfest. Damn you!

Into the Sunset

Amongst other suburban chores, grocery shopping isn't my thing. I'm not good at it. Even when shopping online, I forget crucial elements like toilet paper, butter, soy sauce or some other deal-breaker item. Just mention grocery shopping to my husband and he will happily tell you that I suck at it.

What's worse is that when faced with the prospect of perusing real-life aisles for necessities on my list, I wind up hauling home a few hundred dollars worth of wine, cheese, magazines, greeting cards semi-sweet chocolate and other pricey must-haves. I am an absolute MORON in the grocery store.

My first trip to Sunset Foods, the self-described gourmet grocer in Highland Park, was nothing short of a disaster. Please don't misunderstand, this store has all the fancy everything I could ever want  (organic, prepared foods, awesome bakery/deli, European etc.) and some of the no-frills stuff too. It's just the whole experience that throws me over the edge.

Here's the deal: I ran in looking for a few specific items early one morning - milk, Yo Toddler!, cheese, white vinegar and tea to be exact. After forty-five seconds I realized that I was in serious breach of the dress code. The mom squad was showered, hair blown out, in full makeup and expertly decked out in full Yoga regalia. I was sure I'd wandered into a Lulu Lemon by mistake. Alas no, I have come to accept this as Sunset dress code. I was fresh from bed, hungry and improperly groomed for my Sunset debut. Boo, Jen.

I scooped up my items, minus the cheese because NONE of it was organic (gasp) and headed for the checkout. I was a few steps away from freedom when a random woman at the foot of the register aisle grabbed my cart. I jerked it back once and she didn't let go. Finally, I figured it out and let her do what she wanted - unload my groceries onto the belt for checkout. But not before throwing in a Martha Stewart Living and a Twix just to make it appear as though I wasn't finished with my cart until ... okay now.

I paid and was about to leave when the bagger asked me if I "wanted a number."  Confused, I said "What? No." and scurried away. I later learned that they give you a number so you can drive up and have your groceries loaded for you. Convenient and strange in my opinion. I see the utility in not having to load several bags of groceries into your car, but who's gonna unload them when you get home? HELL-O? DE-LIV-ERY.

The whole ordeal turned me off to say the least. Still, a lack of this and a shortage of that around the house forced my hand and I begrudgingly made several more trips to Sunset over the next few weeks.

I am pleased to report experiencing a pivotal moment in my relationship with the grocery store this week. I walked in, found the organic cheese for Lei (in the organic section dumb-ass), stealthily and efficiently made my way through the store checking the remaining items off my list. I let the unloader, checker and bagger do their jobs without assault, took a number, pulled up the Jeep to be loaded and was on my way. I felt like such a know-it-all big shot. It was actually kind of fun.

I even wore my favorite yoga pants.

House

When you're single, married people are always asking you when you think you'll get married. When do you think he'll propose? Are you bummed you're not married yet? What kind of wedding do you want to if he proposes tomorrow?

The list of questions is endless, right down to china patterns and venues. It's like the married-folk have joined a little club and they're dying to see your membership application.

Once initiated into the club, you are immediately privy to the gruesome details of the dysfunctional inner-workings of these marriages over a nice wine-soaked round of Bunko or whatever those wacky wives clubs are doing to entertain themselves these days. You almost feel the urge to make shit up about your husband to fit in, but think better of it and just chip in a few cents about how he doesn't pick up his socks or wet towels. That ass!

The same holds true for the couples with kiddos. Once you have a baby, you can't wait for your friends to reproduce. Mostly because having a newborn pretty much sucks and misery truly loves company. However, you direct your discussions to sweet baby gear and dazzle them with pictures of your peanut sleeping or posed in other similarly peaceful states. You only divulge the horrors of parenthood - no sleep, diaper blow outs, the exorbitant cost of the sweet baby gear, ear infections, bad babysitters, sore boobs, and the like once your friend is about to give birth. Ha ha - SUCKAS!

I had no idea that more of these clubs existed, related to the stages of life through which we must matriculate to feel successful, but aren't nearly as glamorous as they first appear. However, I am on to the next club, not necessarily in the same order as everyone else - the houseowner club. I have been a homeowner for some time, just not a houseowner. HUGE difference. And, everyone else who was rah-rahing for me to buy the house is now referring to it as a "lifetime love-hate relationship". FAN-TAS-TIC.

City condo living and suburban house living are completely different. Let me point out a few of the most crucial deviations in my opinion:

1) In a high-rise in the city, we can live twenty feet from twenty people for ten years and not know ANY of their names. Sure, I vaguely know three-packs-a-day on the pool deck guy, weird helmet guy, pot-smoking sorority girls know as the besties, the association president el presidente, ambiguously gay dude, the woman who can never remember how old Luella is and whether she is a she or a he but asks every single time we're in the elevator, lawyer guy, the triathlete, Auntie Social and the woman who furiously tries to manually close the elevator door before you can shut your mailbox and dash there yourself. Worth mentioning - the couple whose children addressed everyone as "hi people" who once lived at the end of the hall.

In the burbs, I am on the Highland Park Ladies email list, currently watering the neighbor's plants and rearranging their trash cans while on vacation and have been asked several times via snail mail to "Save the Children" by a specific individual. What the fuss? I so frequently stand at the sidewalk in front of my house to make polite conversation that I am ready to put a bench right at the foot of the driveway. And, I've fielded so many inquiries related to our renovation that I am considering holding an open house to take care of multiple requests to see things like my new soapstone countertops all in one fell swoop.

2) City = Drive some, walk everywhere else. Burbs = Walk some, drive daily. We need a second car and that absolutely blows.

3) Peapod needs some advance notice to schedule a grocery deliver to the burbs. Whereas I can schedule at the last minute in the city. Many people have tried to convince me that grocery shopping is relaxing and fun and wonderful. I CANNOT STAND grocery shopping anywhere other than the internet - Peapod to be specific. Otherwise, I need to go to Whole Foods for much of the order, then Sunset for the few other things I can't get at Whole Foods (like preggo waffles and the WW frozen Quesadillas to which I am addicted and will rarely admit to eating) and then to the specialty market for the things I need that are at Whole Foods but way more expensive than they should be and as a matter of principle, I can't buy them there. It's all bullshit when I can get everything I need from Peapod, while I track my spend and avoid getting sidetracked by impulse purchases. I spend no less than $100 on wine, cheese and tapenade every time simply walking through the doors of Whole Paycheck. Boo.

4) City = Hailing a taxi. Burbs = Calling the night before for a taxi. There are multiple reasons Ryan and I are both having a tough time with this one. But the most important factor is that we like to do things at the last minute.

5) We now live very far from Midway, which means no more Southwest. I hate O'Hare, hate getting to and from O'Hare, I despise all airlines EXCEPT Southwest. I need a game plan here because this just isn't working for me. Plus, if you take a city cab home from the airport, the credit card authorization is out of range. It's like I live on a farm or something. Last night, the driver who brought me home from O'Hare thought I was leading him somewhere to be mugged or killed. In the city, the opposite is generally true.

6) We suddenly have a roof, yard and basement to worry about. In the city, we had a 24 hour doorperson and maintenance crew. We never bothered with those things considered "common elements". SIGH. This is the main issue that no one mentioned until after we bought a free-standing house. "You'll spend so much money every year on stuff you won't even notice - new roof, new furnace blah blah blah."  The dryer broke the other day and we bought a new set of front-loaders. Super expensive pain in the ass is all I can say.

7) I can hear bugs instead of the 22 bus. I am rattled by the table-saw hum of the mating cicadas in my yard. I would pay someone fifty bucks to record the lilting sounds of Clark and Fullerton at dusk. "Next stop - Clark and Belden ... Clark and Belden. Psshhht. Vroom." Oh I do miss it something awful. That, and the bright lights of the skyline to guide me to the potty three times each pregnant night. Now, it's pitch black and I use my right leg like walking cane for the blind. My shins look like half-eaten corn cobs - bruises and bug bites. Gorgeous.

There are upsides.

1) Lei loves her yard - especially the swing set. Luella does too. In fact, she one self-assured pooch these days. It's as though she can't believe we won the lottery and have an actual yard! A YARD! I told her that I'd like to see the carcases of ten fallen voles, lined up on the patio by the end of the week. She agreed to give it a shot.

2) We can walk to the lake, Ravinia, the train and downtown HP. With this comes the ability to walk to a restaurant, have a few cocktails and not have to drive home. That is a major plus where suburbs are concerned.

3) The guest parking situation has improved immensely. In the city, you fend for yourself and probably should have taken a cab. We do have parking - a definite plus - although not a huge one in my opinion. Even traffic wasn't much of an issue for me, just for those visiting from out of town.

I'm confident more upsides will emerge by Halloween - Halloween itself likely being one of them. I just need to revisit this list regularly and stay positive, even in the face of pregnancy, renovations, out-of-commission second bathrooms and a brand new, defective, front-loading washing machine. The washing machine was a bitter pill. Tomorrow is a brand new day.