Spectacle of Lights

For about the past ten years, Brian and I have made a tradition of driving through the nearby suburb of Lincolnwood to take in the celebration of extravagance that is their Christmas (and in some cases, Hanukkah) lights display. About 20 homes in the neighborhood are lit up so outrageously that we can practically hear their electrical meters whirring from our idling car. It is a real live version of Christmas Vacation. Last night we took Eamon through for a tour, now that he's old enough to at least look in the direction we point. He seemed to enjoy it.

This is a photo of my absolute favorite one. I hope Eamon believes it's all one big tree at least as long as he believes in Santa.

Priorities

The other night, Brian figured out that he could squeeze in a ski trip to Park City, Utah, in conjunction with a January business trip he has to make to Salt Lake City. Before Eamon, we went skiing out west nearly every year, and Park City (home of Sundance, and the Sundance Film Festival, where were it not for Paris Hilton's presence I would want to check out rather badly) has been on my list of "must ski" destinations for about five years.

We just took our anniversary trip to Cabo San Lucas a month ago. That was our first trip away from Eamon, and it wasn't quite as hard as I thought to leave him behind for a few days, but evidently I am not ready to leave the little guy again so soon. I turned down the opportunity to join Brian for skiing -- and my second favorite part, apres ski -- saying that not only does it cost money and we just spent a lot on a vacation recently, but we'd have to leave Eamon again.

I don't want to be one of those couples that never travels because they have kids, but I was shocked to hear myself utter the words "no thanks" when it came to a ski trip. Without hesitation.

Now, back to my Christmas cookie baking. Oh my god, I'm such a mom.

The Race Is On

I love this time of year. Yes, Christmas is great and the snow is still sort of a novelty and I'm not yet sick of having to wear gloves. But the best part is the list on my refrigerator every year of the movies I want to see now that the Oscar race is on. Some of the movies have been in theaters for months, some are already on DVD, but with a 13-month-old at home, it's tough to get to a movie these days. I saw Black Swan the other night with a friend, and it was the first movie I'd seen since Eamon was born. Last year on Oscar night, I had only seen one of the nominated movies. Usually I see them all by January 30. This year will be different.

So this year's list includes:

The Kids Are Alright - I usually avoid movies named after songs, but in this case I love the song and the movie got great reviews. So this is an exception to my rule.

True Grit - I have not seen the original, but I love pretty much every Coen Brothers movie ever made, so I'm excited to see it. And I read that it is based on the book, not a "remake" of the John Wayne film (for which he won his only Oscar, I might add).

The Social Network - Michael Cera -- I mean -- Jesse Eisenberg is often just playing himself, but I've heard so many positive things about this, and I love Aaron Sorkin's writing, that I have to see it.

The King's Speech - I really like Colin Firth and Helena Bonham Carter, and I always like to see at least one movie a year that I feel comfortable recommending to my in-laws.

The Fighter - Marky Mark has come a long way since "Good Vibrations." I'm looking forward to seeing this.

Baby Monkey (Going Backwards On A Pig) - Parry Gripp

My sister got this from her boss, she forwarded it to me. I'm not sure who among us has more free time: the two of them, for sending it on; me, for watching it and posting it here; or the guy who wrote the soundtrack to this short film.

Regardless, it falls in the category of "so dumb it's funny," and I admit it did make me chuckle.

For Display Purposes Only

To the woman nursing her newborn while sitting in the Glider in the nursery display at Target: I don't think you're supposed to sit in the furniture up on that platform.

Long Time, No Blog

I'm not sure what I've been doing with my time, but I know I haven't been posting here. I have, however, had some random thoughts:

1. I just realized that song, "You Think Your Cooler Than Me" is not, in fact, sung by Macy Gray. It's sung by some dude who sounds like a really tall black woman with a raspy voice.


2. I find these stickers really, really annoying, especially when they end with a cat. I don't care, Complete Stranger, that your husband knows how to sail, and that your three adorable stickfigure children each have a favorite sport or hobby. Most of all I don't care if you have a cat. The dog can stay, though. How about just a stickfigure sticker of your dog?


3. Nate Berkus, Oprah's gay friend and one of my favorite TV personalities, has a show of his own. I'm trying to tune in when I remember to turn on the TV, because I really want the best for Nate. I don't know him, obviously, but I wish I did. I think he could have a heyday with my living room decor. I have a feeling he would tell me to "edit."
4. Eamon is going to be 1 year old in just a matter of weeks. I can't believe how much he has changed even in the past few weeks. He's starting to lose some baby fat with all the crawling he's doing, and Brian is trying to get him to take a few steps. *Sigh.* At least he's still nearly bald.

Who comes up with these names?

The other day I was sitting in traffic behind a giant SUV. Who am I kidding? I sit in traffic behind a giant SUV every day. They are officially outnumbering cars on the road in my suburb, second only to silver minivans. But I digress...


The make and model of this particular SUV jumped out at me because of its attempt at drama:



Nissan.
Armada.


Armada? "A fleet of warships?" As in the Spanish Armada?


My brother used to drive a GMC Envoy. Okay, this name is a little much, but it does have a sense of sophistication, like a diplomat would be picked up in one after a summit in The Hague. Dramatic, yes, but at least it makes some sense.


Unlike the Buick Enclave. "An enclosed territory that is culturally distinct from the area that surrounds it." Or, your car that you use to drop your kids off at school. Huh?



I just checked out Nissan's Web site, where they're promoting their new electric car. What a cool concept, but what a weak name. The Nissan Leaf. So, this thing will fall, feather-like, from a tree, come October? I get the environmental reference, but "Leaf" does not get me where I need to go. Leaves remind me of Walt Whitman. Raking. Shade. There has to be a better name that evokes environmentalism. The people at Nissan are breaking new ground with this 100 percent electric car. Let's not make it another Yugo.



I still think Saturday Night Live's Adobe - the little car made out of clay! - has the most appropriate name. "It combines German engineering with Mexican knowhow!"

Jack in the Box

My favorite sound in the world is my baby's laugh.

Wow. That's ... Specific.

About a month ago, I started heeding the advice of friends of mine (who don't live near me) and sought out a "mom's group" in my area. A few people I know suggested a Web site called meetup.com, a clever site where you can search for groups of people who share your interests and who meet regularly to, I guess, talk about those interests? Do those things that are mutually of interest to you all?

Anyway, I registered on the site in order to find some fellow stay at home moms with younger children (preferably babies or toddlers). I haven't found one that fits me as far as location goes, but I get regular notices from the site when someone starts up a new group that somewhat meets my parameters or keywords. These requests are somewhat entertaining. A notice I got today was an good example of just how specific (and, I assume, how small) these groups can get:

New MeetUp Group!

Fun, Sporty and Youthful Moms with Teenage Sons Aged 14-18

Now, when I set up my parameters, I was trying to avoid being too picky, like I didn't care if the other moms lived in the city or suburbs but it would be handy if they lived within 15 miles of me (that could mean they live downtown, on the north shore, wherever). But the woman who created this group is a 34-year-old with a 16-year-old son, both of whom have "a ton of energy" and are looking for like-minded moms and their sons with whom they can "make friends." How many women are there like her? She suggests they all go rock climbing! Or (if your son's not an athlete like hers) bowling!



I suspect this woman's son, if he's like most 16-year-olds, was mortified to know she has posted this. Then again, there is a profile photo of them practically hugging one another. They look like a late 80s sitcom. (Editor's note: The photo above is not them. Clearly.)

I Need a Calling

I told myself (and my husband) that I'd spend Eamon's first year with him at home, and then look for a part time job. Eamon turned 7 months last week, and I am starting to have dreams about interviewing and job offers. Last week, I dreamed I was offered a job working for Will Farrel, and his boss at the company was Lance Armstrong. No idea where this came from except that Talledaga Nights was on TBS last week. Maybe I secretly want to be Amy Adams?





Now that the job market is slowly improving (at least, the mass layoffs are subsiding) I am starting to think about what kind of job I want. I am pretty sure I don't want to go back to the nonprofit sector. And I'm not quite sure I want to stay in public relations. I think my problem is that so far I only know what I don't want to do. The next step, I guess, is figuring out what I do want. It's too bad there isn't a career path for someone with a knack for trivia, a gift for dealing with people, and a quick wit.



Maybe a game show host?

Thoughts on Concertgoing

Last night, Brian and I went to a Josh Ritter show at the Vic Theater in Lakeview. I didn't realize how long it had been since I'd been to a general admission concert in an old venue like that. We saw the Swell Season at the Vic a couple of years ago, but we must have arrived there early because we nabbed decent seats in the balcony. At the Vic, the first section of balcony seats are actual theater seats with armrests. The upper section of the balcony is made up of vinyl benches, so you have to guess if there is any room in a row or if people need that extra personal space. The floor is covered in what my family calls "cinemuck" -- a sniglet for that unidentifiable sticky substance lining the floor of a theater that is the result of years of neglect and many, many spilled beverages. (Literally, my shoe came off four separate times in our two minute search for a seat last night.)

We decided to just go to the main floor and try to stand in a spot with a view. Being out of practice at this type of concertgoing, we found a spot directly behind a guy who can only be described as a sequoia. This guy was probably 6'3" with shoulders like a cartoon superhero. And, he didn't move an inch through the entire show, which was quite lively. At least we knew if we were able to see around him, we should stay in that spot, because he was like the Rock of Gibraltar.

We stood in front of this nice kid from Indiana who asked me before the show if I'd seen Josh Ritter live before. He told me he'd seen him three times (this was my second show, Brian's third) and was clearly a fan. So much of a fan, in fact, that he sang along, verbatim, with each of the first three songs on the playlist in my ear. He must have gone to get drinks or something and eventually was not standing with his chin just over my shoulder for the rest of the show, so that wasn't as bad as it could have been. I am all for singing along, but from now on I will make sure I'm not so close to anyone around me that they might hear me and only me singing.

A few years ago, the state of Illinois enacted a smoking ban in all public places, including drinking establishments. I suggest they lift the ban in old music venues that have limited cleaning staff. The smell of stale cigarette smoke would be preferable to the scent that lingers in buildings like the Vic. It's sort of a cross between a sweaty foot and two-hour-old quesadillas...and they don't serve food in that place. In my 20s I'd have to air out my clothes after a night out because of the smoke smell that would get into my jeans. Last night I still had to do that to get the sweat smell out. Not my sweat, mind you. I guess we're all healthier despite the smell.

Other than these issues, the show was great. Josh Ritter is one of those performers that seems to really love his audience and his music. I can't remember the last time I paid such close attention to the songs I wasn't familiar with. And suprisingly, the whole experience taught me that we need to get out of the suburbs more often and take in more live music in this incredible city.

Honk if You Like Sitting Up

Eamon started sitting up a couple of weeks ago. The other night I made a run to Toys R Us to buy some blocks and a couple of other new items. Every time he plays with a new toy that requires him to sit up, he turns and looks at me like he's so proud of himself. When I took this picture, one of about 20 I took while he was "driving" this car, he literally posed for me, moving his hand from the green stickshift, to the steering wheel, to the horn for a quick "honk!"

God help me when this kid starts crawling.

Girl Gang

We live in an extremely safe suburb. Reading the local newspaper's blotter is hilarious, because the worst crimes reported involve someone's North Face fleece jacket getting stolen from their car (and at the end of the report it's revealed that the "victim" had left the car doors unlocked and the jacket on the front seat). Even the adjacent Chicago neighborhood has the lowest crime rate of any 'hood in the city. There is the occasional report of gang tagging on public property, but it's very rare.

Today Eamon and I were on our way home from a walk uptown when I spotted a group of teenaged girls walking towards us. I chuckled to myself at the memory of a friend who'd moved here after us and was slightly alarmed by the large numbers of high school kids hanging out in the coffee shops and movie theaters. Apparently large groups of clean cut teens make him nervous. I joked to Eamon, "There's a gang of teenagers, Eamon, think we can take 'em?"

As we got closer, however, I noticed something about these girls. They were all wearing bandanas on their heads. Some red, some blue. Were they the Park Ridge crips and bloods? What's next, "age" riots between the wealthy baby boomers and active senior citizens in town? It was both comical and confusing.

Stop stealing my playlist

A few years back, I got an iPod shuffle to give myself a little music during my daily (ahem) runs. As a teenager, I was a huge mix tape maker, always trying to come up with that perfect list of songs that would begin and end on the perfect notes. I still make mix CDs now and then, and I take pride in the playlists I create. Sometimes I think it's almost too easy now with iTunes to track down a single and purchase it with the click of the mouse. But I digress...

I thought I was so clever in creating my first running playlist, putting "Goodbye Girl" by Squeeze on it. A month later, an Under Armour commercial (featuring a girl going out for a run with headphones on) appeared on TV. Then I discovered the Kanye West song "Touch the Sky," whose lyrics always help me go a little faster. Soon I heard that played on some commercial for the NCAA or some other athletic organization. Recently I saw a cute little song I'd added to the list, "She Moves in Her Own Way" by The Kooks, now serves as the background for a Crystal Light workout drink. Come on now...It was bad enough when the Who sold every one of their songs to promote anything anyone would pay them for, then Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life" became associated with cruise ships. All my favorite songs become commercials.

Write a jingle, people.

Big Day Out

Yesterday was Eamon's first trip to Chicago's museum campus and lakefront and fortunately it was 75ish with blue skies all around. We met cousins Erin, Megan and Sean and Aunt Becky for a stroll by the water, with a stop for the big kids (and me) for ice cream. Nothing beats an ice cream sandwich on a warm, sunny day, by the way.

Regrettably, I forgot my camera at home, but when we pulled in the driveway and I got out to bring him inside, I decided this image pretty much sums up the effects of a day of fresh air. He was totally conked out. I can't wait for summer.

Getting Out of the House

Now that Eamon is able to fully see the world around him, I am making more of an effort to get out for longer periods of time and let him see and interact with different people. Last week we took him to the park for a turn on the baby swings (see picture). It was late in the day for him, so he was only semi-impressed with the experience. Today, however, we stopped at a different park in the neighborhood adjacent to our suburb, and he was so excited about that swing and everything around it (a train stop and the trains that came through, for one) that his mouth was wide open the entire fifteen minutes we were there.

Yesterday we finally made it to the "mom and baby" yoga class at the studio in Lincoln Square where I took prenatal yoga last summer. It really should be called, "Yoga for New Moms: It's Okay If You Bring Your Baby and S/He is Really Loud and Fussy." Most of the class involved Eamon lying on the blanket at the top of my mat while I did the poses. In fact, at the start of the class, we moms were instructed to lie on our backs with our arms out as she talked us through some relaxation techniques. I peeked down at Eamon and he was in the exact same pose as the adults. Soon, though he got a little antsy and I had to stop a couple of times to console him. Toward the end of class, we put the babies on our bellies and did some good abdominal exercises, which made him giggle and subsequently drool all over my shirt. Soon he was distracted by the cute 7-month-old girl on the mat next to us. He gazed at her for at least two minutes. She was cute, I have to say.

It's fun to watch him notice new people; he studies their faces awhile and decides whether or not he should smile cutely or frown and then burst into tears. Most often he smiles, especially at the ladies. Either way, it's nice to see him take in the big world outside.

Where to?

I had to post something new just so I wouldn't have to look at the picture of the three latest E! celebu-idiots.

Brian and I will be celebrating our 10th anniversary this November. It really doesn't seem like ten years, except when I think about some of the things I picked out for our wedding. One of the only things I still like is my dress. Amazing how one's tastes change from 25 to 35.

In celebration, and as an excuse to go on vacation, we are planning a trip of some sort. Nothing extensive, since we are now not only funding a retirement savings but also a college tuition savings, but a long weekend or four-day vacation would be great. We've considered Mexico, since it's a direct flight and relatively inexpensive, but we've been there already and, like our restaurant experiences, we hate to go to the same place twice. It's just such a big world, why repeat destinations? We've done the Caribbean, specifically the British Virgin Islands, but I suppose we could consider a different part of that region. We'd love to see more of Europe -- I am dying to get to Bruges, Belgium, but that is a long flight and we're leaving Eamon behind (sniff). And it takes just as long to get to Hawaii from here.

The possibilities are not exactly endless, but it is fun to think about going somewhere new to celebrate our 10 years together. Maybe we should get out the world map we had in our first apartment and throw a dart at it. The dart would probably land in, like, downstate Illinois.

Pretty Obnoxious, Pretty Unnecessary...

So I admit, I occasionally get sucked into an episode of Real Housewives of New York City and have seen more than once the Keeping Up With The Kardashians episode where the pregnant sister's baby daddy gets all wasted and makes an ass of himself in Vegas. My point is, I am not exactly above reality TV, as long as it involves people who have a lot more money than I do. (In other words, I never cared for John & Kate or that show with the family of 18 kids.) I have to draw the line, though, at E!'s new reality show, Pretty Wild.

Apparently it's about three teenage sisters -- E! is selling them as the "next generation" of Kardashian-type L.A. girls -- whose parents are semi-famous or somehow deemed important. One of the sisters is under investigation as part of that crew of well off teenagers who robbed the homes of young Hollywood "stars" like Rachel Bilson and Lindsay Lohan. I just can't decide which came first in this chicken-and-egg situation: did the girl get the show on E! and THEN proceed to break into someone's home, or did E! actually REWARD this girl and her spoiled sisters with a show because she is a quasi-celebrity? I recently read an article in which one of the producers was asked that very question and didn't actually answer one way or the other. Which leads me to believe it is the latter.

I'd already sworn off E! News and its sister show, The Daily 10, because I can't stand the way the women presumably have to maintain a BMI of 16 or less and then pose with a hand on their hip while they deliver the "news." (That, and I can't stand Ryan Seacrest.) Now I might have to boycott the whole damn network for being pretty stupid.

Cousins Jack (8 months), Erin (3 months) and Eamon (4 months) at Erin's baptism yesterday.

Who Watches Leno? More Importantly, Why?

I sometimes wonder if I'm the only one who doesn't understand Jay Leno's success. His move to that 9 p.m. slot made me dislike him and his team of writers -- who I swear are a bunch of 11 year old boys -- even more because I happened to come across the show more often in its earlier time slot.

Today I saw a headline that Leno is again back on top in the late night ratings battle. I just don't get it.

Has it Been That Long?

Today, in an attempt to maintain contact with my peers in PR, I attended a networking event downtown. About an hour before I had to leave, I quickly grabbed a pair of pants and jacket from the closet where we'd been keeping our suits and other clothes we don't wear as often. (They were previously housed in what is now Eamon's closet - ironically, the smallest person in our house gets the biggest closet.)

Anyway, I was glad to have found something so quickly that wasn't outdated and fit well. I mentally patted myself on the back for being so organized and able to get myself out the door in something other than jeans and a T-shirt.

It was only until I was in the car headed downtown that I noticed something. My clothes smelled...dusty. A testament to just how long I've been out of work.

At least I didn't try to burp anyone sitting at my table during lunch.

Random Thoughts on Having a Four-Month-Old

Sleep training is not nearly as relaxing as the name implies. In fact, it is f'ing exhausting. And our baby sleeps through the night, we just struggle with naps. I can't imagine having one that wakes up every two hours at night.

Sometimes, if I look at Eamon for too long, he starts to remind me of any one of the bald cebrities I can think of: that guy on "Lost," Telly Sevalis, Pat Morita, Howie Mandel, Mr. Clean, Sinead O'Connor, the dude from Midnight Oil...the list goes on.

I'm tempted to join a moms' group, or at least take a mom/baby class of some sort. I find that by the week's end, if I didn't get out of the house enough beyond the usual errands, I really need a break. I have friends who have babies and young kids, but most of them work at least part time so it's hard to get together. There's a class at our community center, but do I really want to pay $140 to have someone tell my baby about different types of flowers and -- yes, this is really advertised as a feature of the class -- sprinkle water on my baby's feet?

Eamon has a huge smile (see photo), and he loves to laugh. He cracks up when I change his onesie, for God's sake. So it's funny to me when he's straight faced but just looking around in his car seat at, say, the grocery store and the checkout clerk says, "What a happy baby!" Eamon and I exchange a look, like, "you don't know the half of it, lady."

Shenanigans

This is what they do when I am not home.

Photo, of course, by Brian.

The Ugly American

At the post office last weekend, I actually stood in line behind him. The Ugly American. The guy who embodies every quality Europeans - and likely the people of every other continent in the world - hate about us.

I first noticed how loud he was joking to his wife about how "there'd better be drinks" on their trans-Atlantic flight on British Airways. Soon, his obnoxious humor turned into what can best be described as irrational rage, when the postal employee at the counter tried to politely explain to him that his hospital issued "birth certificate" was not a sufficient form of identification. (He was applying for a passport, presumably his first.) The certificate he brought, which he insisted should be "good enough, g-- d--- it, I'm paying you four hundred dollars for these g-- d--- passports!" The certificate he was trying to use was the one with his baby footprints and a sketch of the hospital he was born at some 40-plus years ago. How does a grown man not know what a legitimate birth certificate looks like? As he repeated, while shouting and swearing at the employee, that he'd never been out of the country (you don't say?!) and how would he know what was needed, the employee calmly warned him that if he didn't stop verbally abusing her, she would have to contact the police.

While he continued to berate her, saying, "What the hell are they gonna do, arrest me?!" his two children, who were around 10 and 12 years old and most likely mortified, went out into the post office vestibule. His wife said nothing, just rested her chin in her hands and let him yell. Eventually a manager appeared and again told the man they would have to call the police if he didn't calm down and show his staff some respect. After about five more minutes of arguing, he finally realized he could indeed be arrested (and in our suburb, the cops are just itching to arrest someone for disorderly conduct, or expired city stickers, or failure to adjust one's rearview mirror before starting the car as instructed in drivers' ed class -- disorderly conduct would get you a write up in the local paper), and started to calm down. But all I could think of is how this guy and people like him are exactly what other countries hate about Americans who visit their countries. Well, that and that whole war in Iraq, the eight years we let GW Bush run the country, etc.

I hope he gets his pocket picked over there.

Back to the Grind

Okay, so I haven't quite found a job yet, but next week Eamon will be 12 weeks old. I told myself I'd start looking for a part time gig right around now, sort of a self-imposed maternity leave. Thanks to Obama, I am still on unemployment and may very well be until August, and even got a little extra cash because I now have a "dependent."

So today I dusted off my LinkedIn profile, printed out my resume and actually found one listing for a part-time PR specialist at a national nonprofit whose offices are located downtown, in the Loop, which would be nice. I'll submit my resume and if I get an interview, great. If not, I'll at least know there are indeed part-time jobs out there that I would actually want. I just can't believe it's time to start looking. At the same time, there are days when I miss the challenges and mental workout brought about by having a job.

I love being a mom, but I can also appreciate why some women decide to go back to their careers. Yesterday, Brian came home at 6:30. I heard him fiddling with his key at the back door and I said to Eamon, "Oh, no, we locked the door on your dad!" Then, horrified, I corrected myself, "We didn't lock the door. He locked it when he left at 7 a.m. this morning. We didn't leave the house all day!" The thing that horrified me about that was that I hadn't even noticed. But I did kick ass at that day's episode of "Jeopardy!"

Stop following me.

No, really. Who are these people who are following me on Twitter? It's been so long since I've even visited the site, I can't even remember my username and password.

And today I heard yet another reason not to visit Twitter: Jessica Simpson posted a photo on Twitter of herself "going over a song" for her new album with -- say it isn't so -- Billy Corgan.

Goodbye, Year

Every year at this time, I break open a new calendar for the kitchen refrigerator and write in all the birthdays, upcoming weddings and the Marquette basketball schedule. I usually look back at the previous year's calendar at the days spent vacationing or the miscellaneous events and am grateful for a fresh start. This was the first year ever, I think, where I actually wanted to keep the old calendar just as a reminder of what a great year 2009 was for us.

The fun started in February, when we found out Eamon was on his way. The rest of '09, according to the calendar, was full of networking events and job interviews (all unsuccessful, but probably not meant to be otherwise), doctor's appointments and quick trips to Michigan and Iowa. Not exactly the European vacations we'd taken in previous years, but still fun.

I haven't thrown the calendar away; I think I might store it with the issues of the Chicago Tribune and New York Times we bought the day Eamon was born. It might be fun to look at 10 or 20 years from now if I ever wonder, "what did I do with all that free time when I was pregnant and unemployed?" Truthfully, even with the calendar as a reference, I still don't know. But I know it was a very good year.