Happy Birthday to ME!

I’m building a tradition of spending my birthday is unique locations. One year, a national cheerleading competition in Florida. Last year, the silver mining town of Taxco, Mexico. I couldn’t let this year be a disappoint.

Chicago

Sends chills up my spine.

We’ve lived here 9 months and made 3 trips. I’d go every weekend if I could.

Heck, I’d move there today. I have 2 places picked out. Just deciding which one will best suit my needs. It’s between the small condo with views of Lake Michigan, a short walk to the Art Institute OR the 4 story townhouse in the Goldcoast. I’m leaning towards the later. It’s closer to Old Town Oil and the Spice house. Plus, a short ride down the redline and I’m on Michigan Avenue. A little further down…Chinatown.

Sounds perfect, huh?

For my 31^st birthday, the hubby and I attended sacrament meeting, ditched the kids, drove to Chicago, checked into the Palmer House Hilton...

and met up with my Uncle Roger, Aunt Jennifer and cousin Erik, whom I hadn’t seen in over 15 years. I couldn’t think of a more fulfilling birthday then catching up with family. I’m turning into my father. Every year, it’s more and more about family. However, I did say adios to the kids, so I’m not quite on his level yet.

As I sat across the table from my uncle at the Flat Top Grille, you know…one of those places you strategically stack the most expensive meats and veggies in a bowl so as to get the most for your money then they toss it on a grill to stir fry your creation…again, a place I had never been…

Back to my previous train of thought… As I sat across the table from my uncle I saw glimpses of my Mom and my Grandma as he spoke.

It was haunting. I had the reoccurring thought of, “Blood runs thicker than water.” This man was my family. We were bound by something larger than us.

Again, a wonderful way to spend your birthday. I highly recommend it.

Steve was to have Monday morning off then head to classes at 2pm, but he needed to make a quick run to the job board to scope out potential positions.

We’re in a weird place in our lives.

We know there is a plan. We know Heavenly Father is well aware of this plan. But…we don’t know what the plan is.

No clue. At this moment we have less than 1 month left of Steve’s fellowship, but no formal job yet. We’re renting a house, which we were informed needs to be empty by the end of June because the owner’ are back in town.

So, walk with me through this one…no job, no house, and plenty of student loan payments about the start. It’s the 11^th hour…ok maybe more like 10:45. Reality is, it’s crunch time. I’m interested to see how this one plays out. I’ll keep you posted….when I know something. Which is nothing as of now.

Hopefully this little tangent has helped you gain a little insight as to why my husband was so willing to leave my side while we were in the most wonderful city in the Midwest. He has a heavy load on his shoulders.

But not one to sit around the hotel and mope, I pulled on my gym shoes and headed towards the clear skies above Lake Michigan. Before each trip I mentally evaluate what I need to accomplish to feel fulfilled at the end of my adventures. One such item on my list of things to do was jog along Lake Michigan. Sounds simple enough…except, I don’t jog, run or trot. I speed walk like no one’s business, but I do not run. A compromise was in order between my brain and my feet. Walk a while…trot along when I saw someone so they knew how cool and athletic I was, then slow the pace when out of sight. This theory might work well in Tennessee, but not in a city populated with millions of people crammed into a few square blocks. I ran a lot more than I had intended to and the shin splints later reminded me that, although I had accomplished my goal, it had come at a price and I would be better served to save any physical exertion until the end of my trip next time, instead of spending the next few days with sore…everything. Somehow I made it back to the hotel, showered, and primped before Steve made it back. Networking takes time, but Michigan Ave, aka the Miracle Mile, was mere steps from our hotel and it was calling me.

Sure we took a quick stop at the Chicago Cultural Building to view the intricate mosaic tiling and tiffany dome ceiling while the pianist warmed up for the afternoon concert.

And sure we stopped at the Chicago Tribune to take pictures next to the piece of the Parthenon or Notre Dame embedded into the outer walls.

But, it was the Nordstrom Rack, Burberry, and Tiffany’s that was really calling my name. They spoke to me. Especially the flesh tone leather heels from Coach.

“Oh, we’re so pretty. So light weight and smooth. Don’t think about the price. If you factor in how long you’ll wear us…we’re really quite reasonable.”

And on and on they went. Unfortunately, for both of us, I had just redone our budget and knew there was no room at the inn and walked away from them. I told them I’d be back when we figured out the whole job and house thing, but they had already moved on. After seeing my conversation with the shoes, Steve steered me towards the Art Institute of Chicago, while he ran off to class.

It was just what I needed. Room after room of Monet, Renoir, Cézanne, Van Gogh, Degas, etc. I had goose bumps for 3 hours.

But, the museum was closing, Steve was done, and my shins were screaming at me for my stupidity in forcing them to move me all over Chicago. It was time to eat.

When I was 11, I spent one month in Argentina. We ate chicken 3 times during my weeks there…the rest was beef. St. Kim, who was watching my babies back in Iowa, understands me and suggested that we try Tango Sur, an Argentine restaurant. One day, I hope to drown in chimichurri. What a way to go. But I could linger over the candlelight too long; we had a movie to catch. Movies are difficult for me to justify. Once you pay for the tix and a babysitter, you’re too broke to enjoy the darn thang. However, I had managed to coupon my way into 2 tix for $4. If you’re interested in my tactics, email me. We saw Adjustment Bureau, which was the perfect combo of action and romance, although I doubt I’ll ever watch it again and was a bit annoyed at the freewill undertones. Steve insisted we take a taxi home, so as to insure our safe return to our children. Of course I grumbled the entire ride home…this ride cost more than the movie. It detracted from my money saving victory.

Steve had classes all morning Tuesday and I was feeling cramped. My aching shins were limiting me. I knew I could walk to the Goldcoast, but could I make it back?

Hmm, not too sure about that one.

With the help of the concierge, I bought a one day public transportation pass, and armed with my highlighted map, boarded the redline north, which is actually called the Howard line, because saying North would make too much sense. Four stops later I was there. It was about this time that I realized I never typed the address of the shops I wanted to frequent into my phone. Ops. Oh well, I had time to wander, get lost, and find myself again before Steve was done. Plus, no kids. Exploring is soooooo much easier with no kids. I did remember the name N Wells and zig zagged my way there. Boom…the Spice House.

My version of heaven.

Lavender Vanilla Sugar, Pink peppercorns, Smoked Sea Salt, etc. I had the time to smell, sample, and buy. In the end I walked away with vanilla powder, ground cardamom, Florida pepper, and the Chicago Pizza blend. Two steps down…Old Towne Oil with their rows and rows of kegs filled with blood orange olive oil or cinnamon pear balsamic vinegar. Each one tempting in their own right, but lugging glass bottles filled with their precious liquid would crimp my style as I roamed the streets in search of the perfect townhouse. They would have to wait.

The Goldcoast, named for its’ proximity to Lake Michigan and the notion that you must own a gold mine in order to afford to build the lavish 4 story townhomes with their intricate architectural details and coveted courtyards. I think I found Bill and Guiana’s place. I want to be their neighbor.

Heading south on the redline, or towards 95^th, I grabbed Steve, convinced him I knew what I was doing and we continued south together towards Chinatown.

I get a craving for steamed pork buns every time my kids watch Kung Fu Panda, and Chinatown did not disappoint. The dried seafood was easy to resist, but the bakery offering chocolate banana mousse cake and custard buns sucked me inside with their low prices and promises of BBQ pork buns and chestnut cake.

3 words…To Die For. Who knew? I returned the next morning for more. My only regret? I didn’t take a month off from my life to become an apprentice and learn the secrets of their ways. I’m sure my thighs thank me.

I had no intentions of buying the kids souvenirs. When I asked myself, “Do I want that in my house?” or “Do I want to be beaten over the head with that?” usually the answer was no and that was the end of that. No jade dragon sculpture or plastic ninja sword for Adam. But when I came upon a pair of Chinese pink satin slipper with ankle straps, I knew I couldn’t leave the store without them in a bag for Shannon. With $7 added to my credit card, I exited the store feelin’ like a good Mama.

As noted in previous posts, I am attempting to make bread instead of buying it. Part cost efficient, partially my desire to master a skill I had previously thought impossible. We were blessed with 300 pounds of hard red wheat, which didn't budge when I attempted to sprout them. Dang, it had had a good 20 years but now it was dead. Fortunately there is a cannery just outside of Chicago. Unfortunately a “few miles” outside equals a “few hours” of traffic. I left at 3 pm, crawled along the freeways for 2 ½ hours, paid tolls that make me sick to think about, all in the effort of self preservation and saving a few bucks.

Totally not worth it.

But my new hard red wheat is sprouting on the counter and I intend to grow wheat grass for decorations, so maybe it was slightly worth it. But only a little.

When I pulled into the parking garage across from our hotel, I sat in the car for a good 3 minutes, saying a prayer of thanksgiving for my safe return and vowing to never leave the city again on account of the mental and physical stress I had just endured in traffic. I would send for the kids. We’d buy a condo in the city. We’d buy all new things. I was never venturing forth to the outside worlds again. Oh, and we’d sell the car and purchase subway passes. Trader Joes was a few stops away, so what else did I really need?

Steve had finished his Alumni “schmoozing” and was ready to take me for one of my final adventures in Chicago…the Signature Lounge on the 96^th floor of the John Hancock building. They charge a small fortune to ride to the observatory on the roof, BUT if you take a different elevator to the 96^th floor, a mere 4 floors below the observatory, you can eat chocolate cake while enjoying a view of the city and save money. A secret Giata taught me during her trip to Chicago and now one of my top recommendations for visiting the city.

During all of Steve’s schmoozing, he had failed to eat dinner and a Chicago dog was needed. We could see Portillos from our lounge view, but in reality, we could see everything from the view, so it wasn’t as close as it looked from the air. On our stroll over, we passed a Lamborghini dealership in the middle of a Bentley release party. If you’re not familiar with parking in Chicago, it’s a nightmare. Remember, we are selling our car…but on this particular night, the streets were lined with Ferraris, Porsches, and of course, Lamborghinis and Bentleys. The parking valet was kind enough to let Steve drool and take a few picks. In the end we spent a good 25 minutes walking back and forth.

But it was nearly 10:30 pm and we’re not 20 anymore, so we ate our hot dogs and took the subway home.

Our final day was filled with a few more stops around the city…the French market, the Rookery Building to see Frank Lloyd Wrights remodel of the lobby

more steamed pork buns

the Chicago Temple, and dropping Steve off at the airport to catch his flight to Orlando for his next conference. I managed to revert back to my freshman year in college and consume every ounce of food remaining in the car in an effort to combat the stress of the freeway and the waves of fatigue.

Chicago, I miss you.

Don’t worry.

I’ll be back.

And so it begins...

They've started...already.

School projects which are 25 % student, 75% parent.

Ugh. I'll be doing this until I die, won't I?

When we received the assignment (and when I say "we" I don't mean that figuratively), I turned it over to Steve. Not up my alley. The task at hand...a receycled pet. 1. I don't do pets 2. I'm constantly berated for my stance, so 3. I felt this was an opportunity for Steve and Shannon to bond over their mutual disdain for my position.

Get to work guys. I'll see you later.

The result...Chase, Shannon's dog. But, no, the project wasn't enough. There needed to be a pet show.

A gathering of parents to congratulate each other on their creative abilities. Poor Steve couldn't make it. He has a job and all. Thus leaving the task to Adam and me to show our support.

There was singing.

Introductions.

Awards.

Ok, it was kinda cute. I'll have a better attitude next time, but I'll still make Steve do it.

On the tight wad scale, I'd rank myself at a 6.9. Steve might argue it's closer to a 9.2. My parents would place me at a healthy 7.8 My point is that, across the board, I'm above average in the penny pinchin' category. So what, you may wonder, is my breaking point? The point when I throw my hands up in the air and say, "Enough. The opportunity cost is too high. I quit!"

This, my friend, is my breaking point...

For a 2 year old boy, winters in Iowa seem to drag on and on. But for a mother of a 2 year old boy in Iowa, winters last an eternity. Most keep their sanity by running off to a warm, tropical region mid-February, but instead a few days of escape, I chose to take a fraction of the cost and invest it in a YMCA membership. Daily moments of peace for me and my active little buddy...because, let's face it, his little body is exploding with the energy of a split atom...get it Atom...Adam...

Ok...moving on.

I can only handle so many sharpie incidents to the doors or moments when I realize we've spent too much time together, such as this...

Turn that finger around little boy. I never taught you to apply mascara.

Although I get the most use from the pass, Adam loves his "Little Beats" classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays (free to members!)

Hit is Adam. Get all the pent up frustration out. Beat'em, bust'em, that's our custom. Go Adam.

Sorry, my inner high school cheerleader was surfacing.

Run, Adam, run!

Faster. Faster. Mommy wants an afternoon nap!

And, if Little Beats hasn't tuckered him out to my standards, we head over to the gym for a little b'ball.

Sometimes he'll run the lines.

But we always leave the court the way we found it.

Shannon will be starting swimming lessons this week. At this rate we'll all be in bed by 7 pm every night.

Money well spent!

Valentines Day

Bare with me and keep repeating the phrase, “Better late than never” or “we love Melissa in spite of her copious flaws. To love her is to love all of her, including her inability to post in a timely manner.”

Now, don’t we both feel better?

Valentines Day…the day of love. Amore. Sugar. Red. Doilies. Cards.

Where to begin? For me, it was breakfast. I’ve check out the cookbook Gale’s Brunches no less than 3 times from the library and couldn’t find a reason to make chocolate waffles…until now. So the menu read as follows…

Chocolate waffles topped with vanilla yogurt and strawberry freezer jam accompanied by a Clementine Izzy’s beverage in a fancy cup with a fun straw. Forgive my ignorance…is Izzy’s technically a soda? It’s mostly fruit juice, but carbonated none the less. Oh, well…what’s done is done.

The differences in my children were radiating…Shannon = ate her entire waffle, and then some…but stated that the juice was too spicy and barely touched it. Adam = started drinking and didn’t not remove the straw from his lips until ever last drop was in his round belly…then ate 2 bites of his waffle.

The rest of the day was routine,..until I told the kids we were heading to Target for some errands. Yes, we went to Target, but then to Steak N Shake for dinner.

In writing this post I now realize that too much of our lives revolve around food. But, in my defense, we rarely go out to eat so it did make the day more memorable.

*please note the first reason we do not eat out often is for financial reason. However, a close second is Adam's behavior. Steak N Shake was almost to fancy for him. To be embarrassed in a Steak N Shake...a new low.

Steve purchased each of us a card. My card read as follows...

I got a gift

something ever so small

it's just what you wanted

nothing at all!

...with a return receipt for a pair of earrings. When I looked him square in the eyes that morning, he knew I meant it when I said, "No spending money!" Apparently Steve was the first person ever to enter a jewelry store on Valentines Day to make a return.

Have we ever been normal?

What Iowans do best

Greek yogurt.

My new obsession.

Too many things to love.

One thing I'm not too keen on...the price.

But I live in Iowa...land of health and do it yourself, so I knew it wasn't above me.

A little research, a little milk, a big Crockpot and voila...

it was ridiculously easy.

And, if you don't mind a slight smell of spit up in your house, you can use a coffee filter to drain the whey, leaving you homemade Greek yogurt.

Next challenge...pie crust. I had a little help from St. Kim. Easy as pie...please note the peach pie filling I canned last summer as well as the sign that hangs in my kitchen. I'm so Iowan!

Not to be outdone by his little wife, Steve's craving for white bread resulted in this...

Mmm...bravo Honey!

Just thought I should mention why we haven't blogged in a while.

Me Help You...

Love hurts, especially when it’s coming from Adam. His two year old mentality has yet to grasp the concept of his 4 year old physique.

“Me help you!” A bittersweet phrase. My initial thoughts are, “How sweet. My little man is learning to serve.”

But then reality kicks in, or its Adam kicking, either way I realize that my task at hand will take twice as long; there will be some form of additional clean up involved, property damage of some sort, and Adam will injure himself or someone else in the process.

"Sigh"

But I do want a young man who helps around the house one day, so I guess I should encourage him when he’s willing to try.

"Sigh"

But every now and then, I mellow and time permits the two of us to bond over a mundane task. Today’s task…making cupcakes for Shannon’s school party. Not too hard to impress that group, so a little Adam magic wouldn’t hurt anyone.

I think I changed his clothes 3x that day. But note…he was wearing dark apparel so as to mask chocolate stains. I’m a thinker.

Reaping rewards. The beaters were hot commodities growing up. As a mother, I must sacrifice for my children.

I will scrape the residue off the sides of the bowl…or purposefully leave a few tablespoons of batter at the bottom for me.

My apologies to my friends who cringe at the sight of raw eggs being consumed. I could tell you stories of things my grandpa sees as “fit to eat” that would make your skin crawl and keep you up at night.

“Here mommy.”

“Here.”

“I share.”

Thank you Adam… this camera lens has been craving chocolate all day.

In the end, even with the copious amounts of scrubbing....both Adam and the kitchen, there are sweet rewards. While I treasure the peaceful moments we spent together, he appreciates the edible results.

All is well with the world:)