So we were on our way

to May Street Market for the first-ever Kid’s Restaurant Week in Chicago (modeled after the one for adults in Manhattan) and who would have guessed, the bus actually got us there on time. Early, actually. That almost never happens. Being carless often provides us little unexpected adventures, especially related to public transportation, and most especially related to being delayed. Instead, we had one as a result of being early.

We went wandering around the far West Loopish area, enjoying the many characters and sights on the street. We found our way into a local artisan shop and what do I find but these grand things: Story People. So simple, so fabulous. Made me happy that someone took the time to create them. The food at May Street made me happy, too. Some (not all!) of the other restaurants’ pre fixe menus for their KRW events were kinda meh but May Street did it up right. No corners were cut for the sake of expedience. They had about 60 high chairs and booster seats on hand for the occasion and the host shook each child’s hand and seated them. The dining room was nuts with kids doing kid stuff and parents having wine together and laughing. Delightful. I would love for them to hold this event every month. Next year we’re calling earlier to get into Frontera Grill. The thought of having to wait outside for a table there this year didn’t attract me. I have little tolerance for lines. I’d rather go to a less celebrated place and sit right away, you know?

After getting to the West Loop early and having such a great time at dinner, we were up for taking the looooooong walk home, meandering our way through neighborhoods we’d never seen (Chicago is full of surprises, no matter how long you live here) because Bean is so chilled out right now and we can do that sort of thing on a whim. Give him some food and a paci just in case and keep his body cool and you can go just about anywhere with him.  He just waves at people and takes it all in, and is now so calm about the people and traffic and overlapping smells and noise.

I always used to look at city babies on my way to work and wonder what was going through their minds as they were strolled through the all of the action downtown. I suppose I will be finding out what one of them thinks, just as soon as he decides to tell me.

All the freaky people make the beauty of the world

Do you know Michael Franti? I do. He doesn’t know me back but his music and lyrics are a very good thing in the life o’ me. Says he: every soul is a poem that’s written on the back of god’s hand. I’m not much for a god but I do like that lots.

Some good stuff is coming up around here, namely: the Book Fair, the World Naked Bike Ride, the Dyke March, and Pride.  I’m only doing the book fair this year. None of the Beavers are available for the other events (they are international jetsetters sans child, you see) and I just don’t feel quite ready to ask any of my mom friends to go. Solo is alright, but I did a recent war protest that way and it left me feeling a little exposed. Of course, my sign was rather inflammatory haaaaaaaaaa. Lots of people took pictures of me and it. I was glad to be so popular but a little nervous to be alone at the time. I’ll get there with the moms eventually, where I can go to events that represent more parts of me. Who knows, though, mebbe never, and that’s alright. I value their friendship for what it is. It has gotten me through some seriously difficult shit. We disagree on quite alot but we do so respectfully and with the shared knowledge that we are all coming from different places and doing the very best we can for our individual children.

The book fair will be grand as always, I’m gonna get some old printing press letters and hang them on some walls around my place, all willy-nilly. Little pieces of hard-worked history. Have I mentioned lately how much I love my place? Crumbling brick, special assessments, non-stop construction and all. I have lived through the growing pains of this area. I’ve earned this place, warts and whatnot, day by day over the last 2.5 years. My binoculars show me worlds across the way: nude models, art hung, um, artfully on blood orange walls, indoor hanging gardens, stairs where there should be none, people laughing loudly while drinking terrifically good beer, middle eastern theatre groups, people smoking on fire escapes, and lots of golden, yes it is quite golden, light pouring in for my fledgling indoor garden. Yay for this place, yay for this time, yay for us for finding our way here and sticking it out no matter what. We’re staying. Huz says so. The fella doesn’t say much, and usually I control all things, but he never was overly enthused about the prospect of Philly, and I now have to say he was right. Philly is not an emotionally healthy place for us to be at this time. Maybe it will be at another. I hope so. Until then, I will regard our time here as precious, as I should, as it has been all along, despite its very real difficulties.

So how many posts am I going to write about the personal peace I am finding? How boring, right? Ha!

P.S. My girl M.I.A. is still bringing it in a major way. I want you to dance your ass off every time you hear her and please do think of me. I would go see her in concert but I might die of exertion. I’m gettin’ a little old, you know :) I’ve picked out my jazz lounge, and before I know it, it’ll be time to find a farm.

P.P.S. Besides her deeply socially relevant messages about violence, disenfranchisment, global responsibilty, etc, one of my favorite lyrics by M.I.A. is “I’ll let you be superior”. You could easily miss it if you weren’t paying attention, but to me, this is a message to an attractive man that says “you are not superior to me, but I know you feel pressure to be, and I will indulge that need in you for now, as it serves my needs”. Interesting shit for such a young woman. Catchy as hell, too.

Happy stuff I am doing for myself

Growing an indoor herb garden - hullo, Yum, so good to meet you. The dried stuff is an expensive insult to my tongue in comparison.

tmi: Making sex dates with Huz. No, not regularly scheduled “it’s business time” stuff; we have to ask ahead and plan just as if we would if we had never been together and were trying to seduce each other, albeit quickly, for the first time. It’s the hotness.

Decorating, decorating, decorating, (does that sound too Martha? should I say beautifying? art-ifying? whatevs, you get me) with both found and self-created objects. A living environment is an evolving organism as far as I am concerned. I adjust it accordingly, in small ways, as needed depending on my mood.

Daily dance parties with Bean. The kid is a nut for “party favorites” on our cable music thingermawhatsit. His moves absolutely KILL me.

Doing the T-Tapp Basic Workout (the production is cheesy, but dammit, it works) and using About.com’s Calorie Counter (it’s free and way better than WW) so I can get a handle on my recent post-weaning weight gain. Now listen, skinny is not the goal. Skinny is NEVER the goal. I eat, baby. I am married to a classically trained chef. Fat is flavor, salt is life!!! Voluptuousness, sway, and zaftig-iosity are what I am all about. Besides, serious curves throw the very best shadows on the walls in candlelight. Sure, my boobs fell down a bit with pregnancy and my stomach pooches out more than ever, but to a good man like Huz, that just means I housed and fed his beautiful baby. I do like to look and feel healthy, though (which to me is roughly 20-30 lbs heavier than what a typical magazine tells me I should be) and I haven’t since Bean weaned 6 weeks ago. T-Tapp and CC are just helping me keep me looking like ME.

Taking care of a crazy ass fish named Fred who is only a “simple, great first fish” in opposite world. He is a loony mofo. He’s my kind of feesh.

Reading/watching art, craft and travel books/shows at every single opportunity. World and your wonky, curious inhabitants, I love you lots.

Staying informed of rampant injustice. It hurts to do so, and yep I am merely a drop in the bucket but together, baby, we can create a downpour. Signing petitions, writing letters, marching and yelling is what I was born to do. I used to feel pressure to shush, to be less angry, less loud. I don’t acknowledge that pressure anymore.

Re-reading my acoa stuff and joining a virtual support group for it because dammit, you just cannot run away from that shit, no matter how far you go or how many fathers you stop having contact with. 

Actively declining offers of high-paid work that takes place in an office cubicle. I know from experience that it sucks my soul dry and I am now just saying no, no matter what the pay. I will find work elsewhere (elsehow?). I realize this choice is a major luxury even with the discomfort it causes us financially. I am grateful daily.

Going to the park with Bean and talking to strangers even when I don’t feel like it, which I usually don’t. I have met some truly kind and funny people. I love the humbling, unifying moments of parenthood they help me stumble upon. They are gorgeous: the moments and the people.

Enjoying the hell out of the view from my windows.

And finally…oversharing about my life with you all. Ha!

I hope you are doing many good things for yourselves, peeps.

 

Ohhhh, now I get it…

Okay, I’m a little slow on the uptake, it’s true. It seems that the cause of my current financial problem of needing to come up with an extra $13,500 this year and who knows how much more next year originates with our first home loan.

As I’ve said, we got 100% financing. Many people will say we are getting what we deserve by going that route. It does sound a lot shadier than it seemed at the time. At the time, actually, it seemed pretty straightforward. We were tired of throwing away money on renting and started casually looking for a place to buy. We unexpectedly came across this place, only 1.5 miles away from Huz’s work a a quick bus ride to mine. Since we had just started planning to buy and had only meager savings toward that goal, we were offered 100% financing by the mortgage company that was hired by the developer (red flag #1). We had excellent credit and could easily afford the estimated payment as outlined by the mortgage officer. During his lengthy, ahem, counsel with us a first-time buyers, he told us that a tax escrow account was a formality required by the mortgage co, that of course we would pay our own property taxes when we were billed by the county, and that he would simply assign a $50 a month payment toward it to fulfill that obligation on paper (red flag #2). The thought of getting downtown space so close to work for just over $200 per square foot in a booming area seemed like an opportunity that would be foolish to pass up (almost sounded too good to be true, red flag #3). Besides, we knew we would refinance to a more stable loan within a year or two. We did just that. No problems, yay us. Until now.

Our naivete led us to our current situation. We thought we did our due diligence: we took a non-bank-sponsored, first-time homebuyers e-learning course, we read everything we could about the process, we asked tons of questions, and we hired a lawyer who told us that everything looked standard in our contract. We trusted the people we hired to tell us what to do and give us accurate and honest answers when we asked questions. What we did not understand was that our original loan officer factored in the lowest escrow possible only so he could lower the estimated monthly payment enough get our loan approved. He very likely knew we could not afford the actual projected tax escrow that would be required in another year or two by the mortgage company (the banks require almost triple the actual tax amount in many cases to cover themselves). He also knew the banks would not let us pay our own property taxes when billed by the county; typically, you must have 35% of your loan paid off to do that. What did he care of we later defaulted because of a negative escrow amount? He sold our loan within a 60 days. Yay him. He’s a superstar. We suck for not catching it, for not understanding enough.

We are not alone. People all over the place are foreclosing for the same reason. If the market hadn’t taken a dive, we would sell and go about our merry way with lessons learned. We can’t. On this page, we are the #3 case study. So it goes.

There are over 22,000 dead in Myanmar and survivors that are barely that. My sitch is such a silly trifle, isn’t it?

We will manage to work this mortgage shadiness out somehow. Of course, if my employer hadn’t reneged on our tentative teleworking agreement and made me so tremendously uncomfortable during my pregnancy that felt I had to give up on the organization, if our baby hadn’t required emergency medical care when born and NICU care for 10 days after that resulting in tremendous medical bills, and if if if if if if if, this unexpected negative escrow expense and the related fallout would have been no big problem. Ifs can torment a person. I’ll try hard to stay away from them. They don’t actually matter and they certainly don’t help. What matters is that home is wherever the three of us are together.

Have fun with your karma, Michael G.

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

I know, I’ve been gone a while, and I’ve chosen a crass way to re-introduce myself but that word stated in that way sums up the frustration I am feeling.

Here’s the deal:

I need to work. For my sanity, for my soul, and most of all, for my mortgage. Actually, the latter is not entirely true. Sure, we got in under that tricky wire with 100% financing, but we could always afford this place comfortably. We had simply decided to buy on a whim and only had enough dough on hand for closing costs, so we got 100% loaned. We refinanced to a more stable loan within 2 years and were feeling good. Well, pretty good, considering the typical gang bang of shady development deals, non-stop construction snafus and exorbitant special assessments that seem to exemplify living in downtown Chicago. It’s the taxes that are about to kill us.

The gang bang stuff was surprising in the typical way that first-time buyers are often surprised by the real costs of owning a place; it was all of the things that the mortgage consultant does not figure into your total payment, even though they know full well it’s going to be there. The additional surprises, like a 28% jump in our monthly assessments because nobody’s lawyer caught some very shady wording in our building’s code, made us slightly uncomfortable. We just had to cut back on cable, sell the Jeep and join a car-sharing service, that sort of thing. Good things, really, just things we may not have done unless forced. None of it would have been uncomfortable at all if I had been teleworking part-time as planned. Now though, with Daley proposing a tax increase to shame all tax increases (mostly to fund an Olympics we will not be getting) we face being forced out. Sure, there are caps on tax increases per year, but until we pay 35% of our very sizable loan, we are required by our mortgage company to have a tax escrow account. The amount required in that escrow account is based on proposed, not actual, taxes. That means we got a letter saying that we suddenly have to come up with 13,500 extra bucks this year for the bank to hold onto just in case the inflated projections become reality. I’m not crying, I’m just stating. So now, I must find work not because we can’t afford our place, but because we won’t be able to afford the razor sharp increase in the proposed taxes on our place. Sell the condo, you say? We would love to. I should be in Philly right now. I’m not. Huz should be scaling back on his work. He’s not. I’m sure you’ve read the papers. People just aren’t buying much around here. They may want to, but they can’t get financed. Kinda hard for most to come up with a 25% downpayment on $270,000 average value places (and I’m considered to be in a cheap one).

Am I boring the crap out of you with this? I am me.

Aaaaanyway, I am taking the long way around to say that I am feeling frustrated by my current circumstances (quick recap of a forced “opt-out”: if the amazing director who had hired me hadn’t been canned for being at odds with the unbelievably horrid CEO, I would have been teleworking at my prior job with the assistance of a helper for Bean all this time).  Sure I know that when one door closes, another opens. If you are me, you either kick one down or build a new one somehow. I’ve got my big boots on and my tools in hand. I’m ready but I am still bound by Huz’s insane schedule whilst trying to find some work. I never know from week to week when he will be home to look after Bean, or when I could even hire someone to be here to look after Bean. What hired caregiver would be available at any time on short notice? Kinda dumb to pay someone to be here on certain set days when Huz could very well be home. Besides, I decided before Bean was born that I am not giving over the care of my kiddo to another person with me or Huz off-premises until he is three and presumably articulate enough to tell us if that person is mean to him. That part is my choice, I know, and my choice adds considerable complication. I am educated, I am qualified, and I am being offered work but it requires me to be on-site 2-3 days a week. I can’t get Huz to commit to be here one day a week to look after Bean, let alone 2-3, or to tell me for certain what days I should hire someone to do so. See my point? 

It is not entirely Huz’s fault. Sure, he is self-involved to a degree but every time he has tried to have a consistent day at home, he gets called in to do some super-VIP tasting or some such thing at the last minute. Nope, he cannot say no. His employer couldn’t care less that his wife is trying to maintain a career and unlike most people only needs one consistent weekday to do so.

My quandary would be helped if:

• The hourly pay being offered to me by the company across the street (it’s off premises but hardly) was good enough to cover the cost of childcare. As it stands, I would be making $8 an hour after childcare and taxes (yes, I know $8 is a lot of money to some people and I am fortunate to currently be able to turn that net pay down).
• I found a job with quality on-site childcare.
• Huz’s job responsibilities were shared so that it would not always have to be him doing the last-minute super-VIP things and I could schedule consistent on-site work with clients one freaking day a week.
• My former employer would reconsider their refusal of my teleworking arrangement (and for that matter, apologize for making me repay them for the one month of postpartum health insurance I used while we were negotiating an arrangement- I could have strung them along for my allotted FMLA time, then showed up for one day when my leave was over then quit like so many women have to do in this broken system)
• The costs and management for the care of my child while I work stopped being completely up to me (hullo, Huz? hullo employers with subsidies or onsite care? hullo, IL and U.S. Government assistance?)
• We could sell the condo and move to Philly so Huz could scale back on work, I could ramp up and we would have family help with childcare.
• My art and writing skills suddenly increase exponentially and I am payed a billion bucks for my talent. I can create with Bean happily running around my feet like the cheeky little tyrant he is.

I know, I know. So here I am, still asking: is it too much for a parent to want to be near her child while he is so very young? Must she sacrifice not only the advancement but also the basic maintenance of her career to do so for this relatively short time? Must she choose between selling her once quite affordable home at a loss and being with her kid? These are not new questions. I still have no satisfactory answers.

So yeah, back to blogging. I had a dream last night where Theresa came over for dinner and told me it would be good for me and I should get back to it. She looked so great, it must be that Alaskan air. I think dream-Theresa is right. Hi again, peeps. Thanks for being here. I’ll be seeing you again soon.

Love,

a clearly not very evolved over the last 6 months B.

Feeling better

I am tres excited (excited enough to use French adverbs even though I don’t know, or don’t particularly care to know, French; I see myself as far more Spanish at heart). I do believe Philadelphia is on the cusp of reclaiming itself as a cultural and undeniably historical beacon in this crazy-ass nation. Yes, it is small. Indeed, it’s dirty. Crime rate? High as hell and mmmhmm, the locals are, well, local (no personal offense, I just love me my Chicagoans) but I am hoping they embrace my bubble butt and big ol’ brains with open arms. These lips can kiss like nobody else and I am ready to give their cheesesteaks and proper pizzas (have I ever mentioned how much I hate Chicago deep dish?) a big ol’ smooch. Huz is going to switch gears a bit and who knows, if he does he may just survive until 45 or so without succumbing to a stress-related illness. Besides, one of my mothers-in-law is there, the one with whom I’ve got tons in common. She’s an artist and an educator and she was many other cool things before it was cool to be those things. Besides, to steal a sentiment from a crappy movie: when she hugs me, she really hugs me. She is over the moon at the prospect of our move. And, AND! My most beautimous and kind sister-in-law and her fella will be there shortly with their new baby girl. How great will that be?

I am going to learn to accept help (help!) without viewing it as a weakness (screw roaring like a lion all the time) and I am going to learn to not gag at the word family (family!) and I am going to crash though this bourgeoisie cycle we’ve found ourselves in. Gilded Cage, I’ve had about enough of you.

I won’t be writing here as often as I make mental and logistical preparations. There is a stupid amount to do. I may taper off (then again, who knows, maybe not) but I am writing elsewhere (hullo, book with no ending or beginning) and elsewhere-elsewhere under another alias (’sup jeanius?)

It will be a good change, a necessary change, but I am going to cry my face right off my skull when we finally go.

xoxo,

B.

Feelin’ Philly

It’s all good, or it will be soon enough. We are moving to Philly. It’ll take a year or so to make the arrangements, but just knowing I will have family support in the near future will make a huge difference in the geeked-out psyche of Yours Truly. My sister bailed, you see, a while back. Kinda wrecked me. She was inconsistent and full of drama but she was a true lifeline as often as she could be. She brought me Chicago-style hot dogs and potato salad for a picnic on my living room floor when Bean needed to nap straight through our plans for the 4th of July.  She was his first and only, and very enthusiastic, babysitter. Her place in the ‘burbs was the site of our first and only vaca since Bean was born, and we couldn’t have asked for a more accomodating host. But she needed to go find her own happiness and it seems like she has, mostly anyway, so that has left me to figure out just what I am going to do in her absence. I can only make so much polite conversation with strangers based on our children’s similarity in age (cough, playgroups, God/dess bless them). The Beavers are my dears and they break my heart to pieces with their beautiful and fascinating selves, but sometimes it is hard for me to be fabulous for them with a 14 month old. I do often pull it off, but not always. Of course they love me whether I am fabulous or not, but sometimes I am just tired and need plain old insistent and one-of-a-kind family help.

We were talking about the possibility of Vermont but I freaked right out when I Google-satellited it and saw just how damn green it is (yes, I know, that is why it is called Vermont). How can I possibly break my isolation with more isolation? Gave me the hookey-spooks. It looks like where I want to retire, not live some of the most nutty years of my life. So Philly it is. They’ve been experiencing a revival of sorts this last decade or so, that’s what I’m told, anyway. I’ve been checking out their Not For Tourists guide and it doesn’t sound half bad. It’s no Chicago, but nowhere ever will come closer to my heart so I can’t hold that against the place.

I do hope a year is long enough for them to get ready for Hurricane B.

photo credit

I’m in love again

I went out alone today. Bean stayed home with Huz and I went walking. I walked and walked and walked until my clothes felt hot and my boots felt heavy. I walked into areas with bad pavement and worse sidewalks, where alleyways were dark and I was at times the sole pedestrian. I walked with an open coat, bare chested into the wind and rain with my scarf loose and blowing behind me. Someone ran a light that had long been red while I was in the middle of a crosswalk and I just stared her down, unimpressed, and kept walking. It felt fabulous.

Maybe the things that have been bothering me lately about being here are the things that bother every parent in the first year. Every parent feels like the cars are going by too fast, that the drivers are all reckless. Every parent feels like the world is full of threats to their young. It’s probably hard to relax no matter where you live.

Maybe this is all I need to do sometimes, to walk untethered, where it doesn’t matter if there is wind and rain and construction and traffic and odd people randomly reaching out from where they lay huddled on the sidewalk as I walk by. Maybe I just needed to feel that beneath this tight suiting of phobias and restrictions I’ve let myself get wrapped up in as a new parent, I am still wild inside.

I’ve fallen in love with this city again. It really wasn’t hard to do.

photo credit

P.S. Did I ever tell you that much of Chicago smells like chocolate? It does. The Blommer Chocolate Company emits a strong scent that on rainy days such as this gets carried throughout downtown. It smells delicious. The EPA is all over them to fix it but I hope they never do.

Today I almost got us killed

I am still shaking. I never, ever, ever cross against traffic lights. Today I did. It was on a slightly familiar street that I had to use due to neverending construction on the sidewalk we normally use. I entered the street early in anticipation of a very short WALK sign that I was sure would catch us in the cross-hairs of oncoming traffic. I jumped the gun and started moving us across the street. Major problem: we never got the WALK sign we needed. Horns blared as two cars shot out of a new underpass and flew by. I felt my life whoosh past me with Bean’s trailing behind like a swift little ghost. That’s right, Parent of the Year goes to Yours Truly. He was tucked in his stroller, oblivious. My mistake almost killed us. All for some fucking lip gloss and socks. All because of me over-thinking. I am freaked out. This is certainly not the first time we have almost been hit, as traffic in the area has grown exponentially, but it was the closest call and this time it was my fault. One wrong move. Lightening fast.

Fuck, I want to get out of here. We had no idea the area was going to boom like this. No wait, we had heard that it might and we were excited at the prospect, but we had no idea what we were getting into.

Restless

I want to move. All of this staying in one place stuff is killing me. I’ve moved every 6 months to a year since I was a teenager. I like change. 

We’ve been downtown for 4 years and I’m over it. I’m over the intrusive sound of endless construction and car alarms. I’m over nearly getting run down daily by people angrily crammed into slow moving lines of cars as they try to make a break for it and plow through the crosswalks in their haste. I’m tired of navigating multiple elevators and doors just to get outside. I’m tired of building management treating me like I don’t actually live here, like I am a client to be dealt with rather than a person trying to simply be at peace at home. I’m tired of having to get completely geared up and walking a mile to get to a safe place to play outside. I want to go for drives without braking every 30 seconds. I want to discover odd little places stuck in the middle of nowhere that are run by interesting characters with funny stories to tell. I want to be near farms.

Good God/dess, it’s not even winter yet and I’m already feeling cooped up.

I hope this is just a phase.