Yodle-ley-hee-who!

The kids are watching Spongebob in the next room. Sandy (the astronaut squirrel character) is singing a mournful, twangy song about how much she misses life on the land in Texas. She is tired of fish food. I feel pretty empathetic this morning. While I'm not yodeling a lonesome tune about Lake Bluff, there is certainly much to miss. The Bubble send-off was great. The children's friends made them beautiful mementos. There were dinners, coffees, parties. We laughed, we cried, (some of us even got sick in the bushes). Folks went out of their way to make us feel loved and support us in this huge adventure. But I can't look back just yet. Gotta keep movin' forward for now. Embrace the fish food! And let me tell ya', there is plenty of it.

When we first arrived, the house was empty, partially painted with the first floor torn apart, damp smelling and gray. Ugghh. But when we came into the kitchen, a little Seattle fairy had left us a picnic, champagne, balloons for the kids, biscuits for the dogs....it was extremely kind and took the edge off of a very long and emotional month of goodbyes.

Almost three weeks later, the house is getting more and more like a home. I'll actually miss my family of tradesmen. My mom came out for a week to help me get things in order so everyone has a room and the kitchen is in order. Not that we use it. We've been eating out constantly.....I love the variety of restaurants. (Once the floors are done, I'll probably start cooking again.)

It is going to take a long while to get the house in order. After eight years in one place, we've accumulated a lot of crap. I am now, officially, a reformed consumer. Which is unfortunate timing since the variety and abundance of cool boutiques is astounding. But no more, man! It's minimalism -ish-ness- for me.

Every time you crest a hill, you are confronted with an amazing view of water and mountains. I haven't rear ended anyone yet but it is distracting. You run to the grocery store and the mountains are just standing there. And they call to you. "Come and play!" they say. "Leave behind that house of cardboard boxes and climb us, explore us!" Sometimes we leave for the store and we don't come home for hours. Then we don't have milk for breakfast.

I'm thinking February will be a good time to unpack.

The kids have been amazing. They are curious and open. I'm astounded. Knock wood.

We've already had a lot of company. People are passing through all the time. It's awesome. Keep it comin' people. That is, if you don't mind take out and sitting on the floor.

So, I have to go now. The floors are getting finished today so we're clearing out. We are going to the EMP or the Experience Music Project which is a rock and roll museum designed by Frank Gehry. We are members, of course. The kids can play instruments, go into recording booths, play on stage. Check out it's website....www.emplive.org ....it's pretty interesting.

That's all for now. Address cards are coming..... Feel free to write, call, stop by....Toodle-loo, L.

Secret Thrill

No matter how old I get I will always want to go to shows. I don't mean super star, $150.00 a ticket, sanitized, corporate-ized, play-all-the-greatest-hits-ever-as-a-medley kind of shows. I mean rock shows. I mean some dumpy bar with a live band playing their own tunes; that starts too late at night and ends too soon. Even though I live in the far north suburbs and wake up at 6 AM with young children, the thrill of discovering a new, indy band and hearing them live hasn't died. It is a part of myself I'm not willing to give up. So this is what I do: I get the children combed, scrubbed, brushed and tucked into bed in their cozy flannel pj's. Then, with the kids carefully entrusted to some Belizean earth mother (who will be paid handsomely) I run for the train. When you're a stay at home mom, an hour of train time is golden. You can listen to your IPod, read a magazine, stare out the window, think your own uninterrupted thoughts, eavesdrop. For my commuting husband, the train can be tedious, but for me it's blissful time. (Note: I have found if you read the New Yorker, no one will try to engage you in conversation but if you're reading People, you're at serious risk for unwanted conversation.) Once, I had to make a run for the 7:20 and forgot reading material so I had to listen to my seat mate's cell yell. Apparently the person on the other end wasn't respecting his restraining order, and she was sick of it! The whole ride I was hoping this guy wasn't in another car of the same train. Fortunately she departed at Davis Street. I hope she's okay. But usually, it's a very pleasant respite and by the time I hop off the train and swim upstream through all the commuting, departing suits, I feel really free. I ride the escalators down the middle of Union Station, out the revolving doors, past that one homeless guy that's always there hailing cabs for people, and jump in Dan's waiting car. Then, the adventure begins. Sometimes just finding the venue is a challenge. And when we finally find the warehouse behind the parking lot, near the river, and walk down the alley with all the art school kids in their resale shop clothes, we are on a quest. Once, I stood in line with my ID and waited while the boy stared hard at my license. I was patient but perplexed. I mean, I probably graduated from high school the year this kid was born. Finally he nodded and laughed. "Dude, I was looking for an 8!" I do not now, nor have I ever, fit the category "dude". I'm not male, I don't surf and I have three children. I grabbed my ID and laughed, "Dude I know. My kid's in the band" and I walked in. It may sound sad to someone who doesn't love live music. But it isn't about partying (we sip keg beer) and it isn't about lost youth (we love our life). It's that once you are in front of a live band that is making their way with an early album, you are part of a creative moment. You are sharing in the immediacy of music. It is art that only exists in that moment and it will never, ever be exactly the same. And if it's a band we really love it is passionate and profound. When we get home, with our ears ringing, we cover our peacefully sleeping kids. We'll be awake in the morning making pancakes and driving to piano lessons and we'll do all the other things good parents are supposed to do. But we'll be humming and we'll still be ourselves.

Poor Tony!

What is going to happen to Tony? I fear for him. I don't believe David Chase is going to spare us....I think the creators and writers are going to go for the jugular. And then what will be left to fill the void? Entourage? I think not. Today my Comcast service was interrupted and I called customer service prepared to LET THEM HAVE IT verbally. How could they provide such inconsistent service during the final days of the Sopranos?! When I finally got through, I demanded to know why, over the years, they have been so inconsistent? Why, give me one good reason, why I shouldn't go to satellite? After disconnecting me once, validating my address twice and putting me on hold momentarily. The bored operator asked me if I had ordered a disconnect for my cable service. "Oh yeaaaah.....never mind." I hung up mildly embarrassed but mostly annoyed that I hadn't planned for the season finale when I called to cancel utilities. Panicked, I called my neighbors. "Help, I need to watch the Sopranos. Cable emergency." Being addicts themselves, they took pity on me and invited me over. The kids were showered, in p.j.s, so I said, "We're having a television party!" and we all ran next door. This is not one of my prouder parenting moments but come on.....! I have very few pop culture indulgences and I wholly embrace this one. Whenever I'm feeling troubled or overwhelmed with suburban angst, I think of Tony. And I think, "at least no one is trying to kill me."