chicagolo

We have had a few weeks of going back and forth about moving to this house.  We currently have a very awesome house, and one that we weren’t really ever planning to move out of.  It’s not huge, but it’s really bright and open and a good house to live in. It’s not in a fabulous location, and a lot of times I really do not even like my neighborhood-  mostly in the winter when the assholes come out with their stupid parking dibs at the slightest hint of snow, or oh, I dunno, for the LAST 12 YEARS of the yellow jeep’s car alarm going off at least 3 times a night.  I don’t care for my next door neighbors part time auto shop that he runs illegally out of his garage, it drives my husband insane with rage that the whole neighborhood uses our one garbage can (the other gets stolen as soon as it’s replaced) to dump their unwanted trash.  Lots of things like that make me not love my neighborhood.

I have a longer list of the things I love, like the mexican grocery on the corner where we buy warm tortillas almost every night.  I love that most of my neighbors can be bothered to talk to me at all, let alone quiz me about homeschooling.  I have a huge weedy perennial garden with all sorts of amazing flowers blooming.  We’ve planted flowering bushes and trees and our street is wide and green and pleasant most of the time.   We have put the love and money into this house too… it has a perfect new kitchen, and a bathroom that is pretty much a love letter to me.  I designed all of these things for us, not for some strangers to come in and live with.  I never intended to leave this house.

But, we have this letterpress. and with the letterpress we have a lot of type, and tools and stuff stuff stuff.  All of this had been being stored and used by other letterpress printers, but they moved away and it all came back to us.  We’ve been thinking of where to house this stuff so that we can use it. The logical spot is the garage.  Our garage is standing only by the grace of the universe.  It looks like it could fall over at any moment.  Over the years it’s been home to a large family of rats, who burrowed under the cement pad.  For a long time, the garage was a place that we preferred to not think about.  And then our terrier Malcolm showed up and barked the rats away.  And the press arrived.  So we made plans to put more money into this piece of Chicago, knowing now that we were getting past the point where we would be able to get the money back out of this place if we were ever to sell.   That isn’t so much the issue, if we were planning to stay here, but our yard is small, there would never be an opportunity to have a bigger yard here.  We forged ahead with plans to rebuild the garage, on a smaller footprint, to give us as much yard as we could.

Still, it seemed like that still wasn’t going to work out.  We’d have to build 3 feet in from the property line in order to meet the new code.  That 3 feet would cancel out downsizing the garage… we’d still be left with little yard left over.  We decided to just take a look and see what was available out there on a double lot.  We looked for about 5 minutes online and our new house showed up.  Upon taking a closer look at the listing I realized that this house was a house that I used to walk by about 4 years ago while W was in karate.  I would drop him off and Scout and I would ramble around Galewood, imagining myself living in that peaceful, integrated neighborhood with it’s big lots, unique houses and nice people.  And this one house, the one that looked like summer home in the woods of northern Michigan was one that I always slowed down and looked at.  This is the house in the listing.

So, immediately my witch bells started ringing.  We called and set up an appointment to take a look at the house a few days later.  We loved it.  We went back with our carpenter friend.  He looked it all over carefully and gave us his opinion and advice.  We decided to go for it, and started the bidding process.  And here we are.  Getting ready to move to that house.  A house that is the same age as this house but has a list of issues as long as the new overgrown back yard. As tall as the hugest tallest tree back there, the one that is covered with an overgrown grape vine.  There is so much to do in this house, but so much that is already good.  Bigger rooms on the main floor.  A fireplace that is out of my dreams.  A sun porch (that has no windows that open) that will make a perfect studio and reading zone.  There is a den, with glass doors, and a bathroom with a tub from the 20′s.  There is a back stairs and a screen door that leads out to the back yard.  An upstairs door that leads out to a balcony.  Well, it leads out to a roof.  It will be a balcony.

There is a poplar tree, and an Oak tree.  and a lot of scrubby pines and cypresses that will need to leave, and a whole lot of ground cover.   There is a long driveway that leads to a garage that we can move the presses into.  (After it is cleaned and gets a new roof)  There is no air conditioning, but there is radiator heat. There is going to be a brand new wood floor and fresh paint and open windows.  And a lot of construction and repair.   It has cedar siding, one whole wall of which needs to be replaced “corner to corner” as the inspector said, but we are going to see if we can fix it.  It has the potential to be amazing.   The energy in the house right now is flat and still and old feeling.  I can’t wait to see it get moving around with lights and music and food cooking, and animals and kids.

The ladies who live there (elderly mother and daughter) have invited me over to meet them.  I’m hoping that I can go over there and turn over a bed to transplant a lot of my flowers in before we even close.  I know it seems like a crazy thing to do, go from being so settled and comfortable to being at the mercy of a big old problem filled house.  But the problems aren’t structural, the house is solid.  We won’t talk yet about the kitchen.  Oh the kitchen.  Oh my already perfect kitchen.  I will miss it, of course I will.   But, I am excited about the changes ahead.  Change is good.

The blog Chicagolo has been on hiatus for a long time.

We’ve been playing games. For Christmas I received a game called The Settlers of Cataan, which Winston and I have spent a few afternoons immersed in playing. He’s a good player with a more natural sense for role playing games than I. I have been feeling like adding a little more structure to our days, with a little more attention on the basics, and one way that I can do that and still maintain our freewheeling unschooling lifestyle is by playing board games. The Settlers of Cataan introduces a lot of simple and more complex math problems- counting and matching, of course- for Benji, estimation and ratios for the older kids, plus patterning, growth, basic economics concepts, and decision making.

The Settlers of Cataan is a game that we can all play, though Ben needs a team mate, and a short game. I took an inventory of our board game collection, and have been feeling like we are lacking in good games that can be played with a five year old. The old stand-by’s: Chutes and Ladders, Candy Land, Monza, are just too boring to hold anyone’s attention, and I still get pissed if I get sent back to the candy canes in Candy Land. Who needs that?

So, here is a round about tale of how I found the most awesome game ever.

One of Ben’s “issues” of late is being completely unable to get dressed. Every article of clothing is a battle. All waistbands are unnacceptable, all socks are too small, too tight, too prickly. This shirt chokes! I can’t wear these gloves because my wrists are itchy! On and on it goes, I dread- DREAD- having to leave the house. This I do not care for. I’m not interested in being held hostage by my 5 year old’s wackiness. Not getting dressed, not leaving the house- not happening. I’m not that kind of girl.

As some of you may have noticed, we’ve gotten a fair amount of snow lately, which means that in addition to the regular set of clothes we also have the added fun of the snowpants. The snowpants have buckles. Yes. Buckles. But, we aren’t going outside without snowpants because the first thing that Ben does when he steps outside is throws himself immediately into the nearest pile of snow. Going snowpantsless is not an option. Choosing not to fling yourself into a snowdrift is an option, but not a viable one apparently, so snowpants- buckles and all- are going on.

I decided that since the issue with the snowpants was mainly the shoulder straps and buckles, I could easily replace the straps with some polar fleece straps that would not chafe my delicate little sons sensitive neck skin, and in that way he could put his snowpants on with a minimum of spazzing out, and thus, survive another day. So on Monday I was talking on the phone and went into the front “hall” (not so much a hall as a closet) and picked up some black snow pants. “These are Winston’s black snowpants. I do not want to cut the straps off of these, I want to cut the straps off of Benji’s black snowpants,” I said to myself. I then proceeded to walk into the kitchen, get my scissors and cut the straps off of Winstons snowpants.

“Fucking Hell”, was what I said next, “I’m going to the thrift store and see if I can find some one piece snow suits. I always see them there.” So off I went.

It was half price Monday, always a good/bad time to go to the thrift store. I get easily lost in the thrift store- as my daughter will attest- before I know it I’ve whiled away 90 minutes looking at pillow cases and champagne glasses. So I went in with two things on my agenda: snowsuits and board games. I figured as long as I was there I could see if I could find some good game that Ben could play that wouldn’t make us all want to beat each other over the head with the game board. I looked neither right nor left. I did not look at bags, or books, or boots, or blankets. Snowsuits were a bust. Nothing. But Board games on the other hand proved to be a gold mine.

First I found a game called The Ungame, circa 1975, which is basically the grooviest, sharingest game around. You move your piece around a board that has no beginning or end and land on squares called “Tell it like it is!” and “Do your own thing!” moving in and out of areas like “Worry Wharf”, “Happy House”, “Irritation Island”, “Compliment Campground” “Favor Factory”, and answer a bunch of questions like “what is love?” and “what will your life look like at age 70?”. Perfect.

And then I found Smess. Smess is basically Chess with three different types of pieces- Ninny’s, Numskulls, and the Brain. The object is to protect your brain, and capture the opposite teams Brain. Ninny’s move one square at a time, but only in the direction of one of the arrows on the square. Numskulls can move any amount of squares as long as it’s in a straight line.

It’s brilliant, and exactly the kind of game that I was hoping for, but hadn’t been able to put into words. The kind of game that seems like you are actually figuring something out and not just killing time in the most tedious way possible. I bought them both, my total for the day: $3.77. Smess is going for $88 on Ebay, as it turns out.

I brought both games home, and we all played The Ungame, which was hilarious and a lesson in sincerity at times for my sarcastic bunch, and then Ben and I played Smess, and then best of all, Ben and Win played Smess- my dream come true. They played happily until Ben decided that he was an EARTHQUAKE and then board game time was over for the day. Board games and Earthquakes are diametrically opposed.

After the Earthquake had gone off to wreak havoc in other areas of the house, I sat down at my sewing machine with Winston and sewed the straps back onto his snowpants, made polar fleece straps for Benji’s snowpants, and then taught Winston how to use the sewing machine. He made himself a very snazzy polar fleece scarf, which he wore around for the rest of the day, bringing to mind Winston at age five, wearing his fabulous David Bowie-esque purple tie-dyed leotard every single day. I am forbidden to post a photo of this stage of his life, but thinking about it makes me realize that most five year olds are complete nut-jobs, and that this bizarre clothing phase too shall pass.

Today is my birthday, and this is what I got from Jupchurch.  Every year he buys out Lush.  So, gents out there-  if you are wondering what to get your lady for her birthday, the above photo will help you out.

I can’t give everyone actual presents, so I’m giving you all the gift of time wasting. Here are some of my favorite online treats- Merry Christmas Blogpals!

• I’ve recently decided that I like to drink good cheap wine. My dearly departed father in law would be proud of me. This blog has been fun to read lately, and given me some buying tips.

• I love a silk veil. Here and Here are some of my favorite veil dyers.

• I do so enjoy witty writing, a bit of celebrity gossip and fashionable shoes. You can find all of this at Manolo the Shoeblogger

• This is where I play Scrabble

• This blogger is from Chicago, and loves dresses and sewing. So we have two things in common.  hint:  not sewing.

• Feeling like you need a little directional input from the astral plane? Go get yourself a free tarot card reading

• and lastly, a dose of cute perks me up daily.

This afternoon I found myself with only one child- the middle one, probably the one that I spend the least amount of alone time with. He’s 9, and doing well. Lot’s of friends, lots of interests, a few healthy obsessions. He can be intensely sweet and amazingly aggravating, but mostly he gets the short end of the stick because he’s not about to turn 13 and he’s not insanely 5. Today the other two got siphoned off to another family and I got to enjoy a few hours with just my very happy and capable 9 year old boy.

Our house just came through stage one of operation beautiful kitchen- you can see pictures of the place mid- construction at Thanksgiving. We are a few days past being done with this project (except for some minor details like repainting and patching the floor) the dust has cleared, the displaced stuff has resettled.

On Saturday, day 1 post construction, I thought I’d be able to whip the place into shape over the course of the day, but that wasn’t the case. What I discovered on Saturday was that before the whipping part could be accomplished, I’d first have to wade through 80 piles of miscellaneous, random bits and pieces. I lost my resolve when I got to the bookshelf I wanted to move. On the top shelf I found such a bizarre, disconnected collection that I could do nothing but get lost in the dregs. X-rays of someones injury, the last babies baby book with not one word written in it (which sent me down the “oh what a shitty mother I am” trail for a few moments before I was able to talk some sense to myself) letters from my grandma that always make me teary. 50 pages of whatever about my father in laws investments, the cover of a children’s book called “Let’s Get Puppies”, and on and on in this vein. Decisions. It’s all about decisions, and the only decision I was wanting to make was what type of greenery I wanted to drape around my lovely new opening. White Pine.

So Saturday was really frustrating because I just couldn’t make headway. I had a vision of what I wanted the space to look like, but I just couldn’t make it happen because, for starters, my stupid vaccuum cleaner was not only broken- again- but it also needed a new bag, which can only be bought at the special special shop for fancy special vaccuum cleaners. And every single thing was covered with drywall dust, so not having a vaccuum was distressing. That night I went to the first Christmas Party of the season, and I was so deep into my stupid wierd mood that reader, I didn’t even feel like drinking too much red wine.

On Sunday I decided to bag the whole plan and go out shopping for the day, knowing that if I stayed here I would just get irritated by how much sitting around in pajamas would be happening, and how very little nose to the grindstone attitude the other members of my household would be exhibiting. Which is completely within their rights, but still, best to just clear out and shop with my friend Kim. A hilariously good time was had.

And now it is today, and I had only one child. He and I went to the fancy special shop and got the vacuum bags, came home and fixed the vacuum with duct tape. Then when we were making cocoa and tidying up the kitchen the faucet came unattached- a bothersome habit of my faucet- and gave me a soaking. So, the boy and I got to work and fixed it. With duct tape. We made up a thing about duct tape that goes like this:

Global Warming? Duct Tape!

Poverty? Duct Tape!

Crime? Duct Tape!

Endangered Species? Duct Tape!

etc… you can make up your own verses if you like. Then he taught me to play GO, which he is really really good at, and we made some plans for a sledding party, and for his GO club. He thought of some things for his Christmas list. We found the book of runes he started writing a while ago, and he spent some time trying to figure out how to read his language. We played some math games. We had some snacks. And I cleaned the house, and it was super easy this time. The Chi and the Love are flowing today. So here’s how it looks.

Doesn’t it look like just the nicest place to hang out?

I’ve recently determined that I am a slow blogger, which means that I am not putting a post up just to get something up. Obviously to anyone who follows this blog, I’m not a daily poster, sometimes not a weekly or even a monthly poster, but rather I post when I feel like I have something to write about, or something to show. This suits me. I’m not a Twitterer, I’m not out to get tons of readers. In fact I prefer to not know how many people are reading, or have outside expectations that I am going to post on any schedule at all.

I worried, when I stopped writing Kids Ride Free that I would not have the motivation to continue writing about my life and my kids, but that hasn’t turned out to be the case. I think my writing has changed, is perhaps more personal than I allowed myself to be in KRF, but that’s what happens when you spend a great deal of your time in thought.

I like the slow life- homeschooling allows us to have a great many slow days. Days where we meander around in our pajamas, have both early and late breakfasts, play some games, read some books, take in some air, take care of our animals and our house. A lot happens during those days that can’t necessarily be written about enthusiastically and in great detail. If I blogged everyday about every day I would quickly go insane, not to mention bore any reader to tears.

We recently had a dance floor added to our main floor living space. I didn’t know that it was going to be a dance floor when we started the project, but yesterday I discovered that when you remove a large section of wall and three doorways from the area between your kitchen, living room and dining room, you get a dance floor. We are still mid project, there is still plastic everywhere and dust and exposed old house innards, but the transformation is well under way. We didn’t have anyone besides us here yesterday for Thanksgiving, and it was a really great slow day.

Louise and I did all of the cooking (except for the brioche, which was done by the resident baker)

John took apart the piano. Goodbye old piano. Most of the cool bits and pieces are being saved for eventual sculpture projects.

In addition to the usual fare, we made green bean casserole from scratch, including breading and frying onions.

We put the table on the dance floor and gave thanks for all of the important things in our lives.

Isn’t it time for another fun meme? another fun IMAGE meme? let’s give thanks the modern way- quick! 10 things you are thankful for right now, the not-so-obvious, the little things that make you happy kinds of things. Kids and family, friends, pets, house, health etc. are givens. Barack Obama is a given. Tag to anyone who has 20 minutes to goof around with google images.

1. Acupuncture.

2. the disc Car Alarm, by The Sea and Cake, on repeat, especially track 3.

3. Caramelized onions. I’m off sugar and boy do caramalized onions taste insanely good with every thing.

4. gold jewelry that I inherited from my mother in law that I never thought I would wear, but have been loving lately. I feel so fancy, and feeling fancy is fine!

5. My Jill Bliss Journal. I’m on my second one. every other page is graph paper

6.John Stewart on Hulu, for getting me through the last few months with a good laugh at the end of the day.

7. duct tape, you fixed my vacuum cleaner and for that you earn the 7th spot on this list.  Is there nothing you can’t fix?

8. Matrix Biolage Smoothing Conditioner. Kicking the ass of unruly hair daily.

9. orbit gum. Much like caramalized onions, I could not kick sugar without you.

10.the finest tea in the cupboard, Ginger Peach Green.

The kids and I just travelled down yonder to South Carolina to visit my parents for a week. My folks recently bought a little house in a retirement community near Hilton Head. I had romantic visions of day trips and explorations of all things historical and natural science-y. I forgot who my travelling companions were. The fierce, free spirited, free wheeling Upchildren.

particularly this one:

My parents were in a bit of a low point, having recently returned from a fabulous cruise in the South Pacific. They were understandably tired, both of them had suffered injuries on the trip and mom came down with a wicked chest infection- so two exceedingly rowdy boys, one stressed mom (who had the additional FREAK OUT of having left her beloved laptop in the Charlotte NC airport) and a perfectly well behaved almost teenager were perhaps a bit much for them. I can’t blame them, but still, there we were- there was no getting rid of us, at least for a week.

For some reason this trip was just the perfect storm of bad behavior- every car ride was barely endurable- my dad’s car is fancy, with lots of power windows and buttons and lights. My kids are used to driving around in a trashed mini van where boys ride in separate rows. There are enough toys and random snacks in the mini van to head off most tantrums, but in my Daddy’s caddy there was no distraction- actually that is a pretty apt description for my parents house as well. Not enough to do, so let’s wrestle- that seemed to be the motto of the week.

I tried to set up some things to do before we left- I found what looked to be a cool museum on Hilton Head, called the Coastal Discovery museum, that had lots to offer, including a 2 hour kayaking lesson and trip through the salt marsh. I registered Win and I and we looked forward to that. We busted out bright and early and headed for Hilton Head, dropped Ben and Lou off at the main museum campus- housed in an old plantation house overlooking the salt marsh on several hundred acres of property including a horse barn. Unfortunately, despite what the website told us, there was no kayaking in November, which we discovered when we arrived at the kayaking location. Dissapointed, we made our way back to the other kids, and planned to take a look around the museum instead. Ben had other plans though and with relentless, persistant stubborness, refused to go in, or allow me to go and have a look around. I was ready to call it quits and hop an early flight back to Chicago.

We drove around Hilton Head, listening to the indie rock station on my dad’s satellite radio, in search of a public beach. We found one, complete with free parking. I didn’t trust that my dad’s car wouldn’t be ticketed or towed- Hilton Head is quaint though, and doesn’t employ the parking pirates that Chicagoans are accustomed to. Even the beach brought it’s share of disharmony. Ben wouldn’t stop throwing sand. This is a child who has been a beach goer since birth. Throwing sand, unless you are throwing it in the water, is strictly verboten. We hang out with too many families with someone always younger than your youngest child. Throwing sand at people is just not allowed. But, here we were, at this beautiful, pratically deserted beach and Ben was throwing sand at his siblings. He wouldn’t stop- and finally it was enough- we left the beach and got back into the car and drove back to my parents house, me feeling the whole way that something was wrong with my kid, with my parenting, with my life. Nothing like a trip away from home to bring all of the bad stuff to the surface.

My parents took us to a wild place they discovered called Hunting Island. Here my kids were able to release the days of pent up energy that they’d been barely able to contain. Energy that was about to drive me off of a bridge. We went once with my parents, and decided we needed to go back again a few days later. We went on a day that was threatening to turn stormy, which suited the prevailing mood pretty well. We stopped for lunch at Subway and the boys got into yet another fist fight/wrestling match/screech fest while I was trying to place the order. I dragged everyone outside to eat, and had nothing to say- the worst thing I can do is go silent- I don’t think any amount of lecturing or yelling or threatening or pleading works, but silence freaks them out. I wasn’t being maliciously silent, I was just at the point of no longer being able to speak. We got through it. We made it to the island and set immediately out. The trip back to our spot on Hunting Island brought us all around to what for us is normal.

There is a nature trail that leads to a desolate area of the island that was hit pretty hard by a hurricane. A graveyard of tangled limbs and trunks. Tidal pools, gray sand and sky and sea, black water logged drift wood rusty mats of roots, upended massive root walls, it’s not like any place I’ve ever been. The kids immediately entered their own world, playing an elaborate game, allowing me to disappear into my thoughts.

I don’t know how long we were there. A couple of hours, possibly several days, maybe 30 minutes. It’s hard to say, it was very magical and while there I think I remembered what it is that I am doing- not trying to (overly) control my kids and contain my kids and judge my kids, but just allowing them the freedom to experience their lives. It’s hard as hell to remember that sometimes, especially when circumstances are kind of the opposite of that, with a lot of childhood baggage and aging parent worries thrown into the mix. It is really hard to not think that you’ve massively fucked it all up when your 5 year old  is testing every boundary and social norm that there is right in front of your quietly appalled parents. Especially when being a fuck up was sort of a specialty of yours as a teen. It’s really easy to forget- in the midst of my own adult neurotic moments that my little kids are emotional sponges who only act worse when in strange environments, away from their Dad, with people they don’t see that often and who seemed only barely able to tolerate their presence. Sad to say. I love my parents, but most of the time I come away from seeing them feeling like I didn’t act the way I wanted to act, or say the things I wanted to say.

I should focus on the positive aspects of this trip, I know,  but this is what I needed to write about.  There were happy moments too.  Swimming, golf cart driving, an alligator, ice cream, fresh shrimp and grouper, a 45th wedding anniversary, an hour with just my mom, a slumber party with Louise every night, cable tv, wild turkeys, a long walk, old photos, cards, silly kids, a returned lap top.  Obama. A crazy cat lady.  A lot of great new music. A new landscape.  A sunny, windy beach. A lighthouse. Giant thunderstorm. Sand dollars. Whelks. My dad, retired.

I’m really glad to be home, really glad to be back with John. I am really glad I was able to talk to my girlfriends today. I have a few more that I need to check in with.