Catching Some Zzzzzzzzs

I've been preoccupied the last couple of weeks with putting the finishing touches on our back-to-school faculty development day, and have been spending more time with my school blog than with this one.

Now, this is not an excuse. So to make amends I figured I'd give you a taste of what Roo has been up to while I've been working. 

She's been doing a lot of this...

...some of this...

...a couple of hours of this under the couch...

...and a whole hell of a lot of this.

Although she manages to squeeze in a few hours of this each day, too:

So I know that when I start classes on Monday, she'll be just fine. In fact, she'll probably not even notice that I'm gone.

You've Got to Be Old to Have Friends Like These

For years now I've been having a monthly dinner with three of my high school girlfriends. Our schedules don't always coordinate and we sometimes have to skip a month--or two--if someone is out of town or if one of the kids (Mary's got two; Julie has one; Lisa and I have dogs...) is sick. But we've been going pretty strong as of late, and that's especially important to me as I get geographically farther from them.

We've all been friends since our freshman year of high school, and although it's hard to admit this (to myself, more than to anyone else), that means we've been friends for twenty-three years. Although Julie and Lisa have been friends for even longer:

See the two peanuts in the center, right below the only kid wearing a jacket? (why is that kid wearing a jacket?) That's Lisa (L) and Julie (R). Like, they couldn't be any cuter. Photo courtesy of Lisa Neenan (and probably her mom, too, so thanks, Mrs. C.)

Here they are currently, from our dinner last week:

They're still pretty damn cute, but have upgraded from t-ball to wine. Smart girls.

And here's me and Mary:

We'd have liked a nice picture of all four of us, but the guy at the table next to us had a few too many and this was the result:

blurrrrrrrrrrrrry

It's remarkable to me that we've been friends for this long, and that we found each other at all. We're so different, which is probably why we gravitate to each other. These girls are certainly some of the best things about my high school experience, and some of the best things about the past fifteen years. But after thinking about it, I've decided that our one true bond is our shared ability to make Mary snort with laughter by the end of dinner. That's a bond that doesn't back down in the face of different college, career, and neighborhood trajectories, and it certainly laughs in the face of marriage, pregnancy, and Crystal Lake. HA! it says.

All of this walking down memory lane started last month when we were having dinner--my last as a resident of Chicago. About 36 hours before the movers came, I left the house looking something like this...

...and met the girls down at the Handlebar in Wicker Park. We were lucky enough to be joined that night by our friend Megan, who lives with her husband and three gorgeous kids in Philadelphia. She was visiting family in town and made time for us, so with the added bonus of Megan, and with me fresh off of going through bits and bobs of nostalgia as I packed, the five of us had a hilarious and sentimental night.

Walk with us, won't you, down memory lane.

There's Lisa, curly haired and athletic:

Looking smashing

And Mary, not letting her braces dampen that smile:

Radiant on a dry summer lawn

And here's our flying friend Vermille, who also just had a little baby boy--Mary and I are two of the three girls tossing her up there and catching her. Mary and I went though four years of high school cheerleading together, which is a lot of sprained wrists and bruises, hairspray and spankies.

We are still very strong.

And I can't leave myself out of this circus of memories, so here's me at the eighth grade, on the cusp of running into my three favorite maniacs:

I wonder if I can still get my hair to do that...

When I lamented to the gang that I hadn't found any pictures of Julie as a teenager, Mary immediately came to the rescue:

A great snapshot, but we were a little disappointed not to have a picture of Julie with her troll doll collection. Yes, her troll doll collection.

And Megan gave me a pretty spectacular picture of herself for good measure:

Um, Megs. There's a bird on your shoulder.

We talked and laughed about the old times as we had a few of these,

We drank the bar out of Radlers. Literally.

and we all felt pretty damn young. Eventually we'll be at a table at one of the kids' wedding, still drinking too much beer; and we might each be decked out in some sort of pants-suit ensemble; and we'll very likely be dancing like crazy to the embarrassment of the young people there (and our husbands). But we won't care, because by that time we'll have been friends for fifty years. And we'll be legends.

Closing (Part 2)

Last Tuesday, we closed on the sale of our West Town loft. The closing was exactly 103 days after we listed it with our amazing realtor Caren (who is beyond great, so you should enlist her help if you're buying or selling anything larger than a puppy or a station wagon [which I don't think exist any more, sorry]). And even though the buyer was kind of an asshat, it's over and we'll never have to deal with him again!

Closing on the loft was bittersweet. We're really happy to be in our new little house--in fact I spent this afternoon planting flowers and playing catch with Roo--but it's hard to close the door on seven years of life in a 700 (ish) square foot shoebox that you and your husband had made your own. In fact, we made it so much our own that it was kind of remarkable. T. put together these photos to show the difference (befores are on the left and afters are on the right):

The previous owner (or her cousin [or sister? I can't remember] who was renting the place) was a bit of a clutter-bug

The bedroom

The entryway (with a custom built bookshelf by John Power--we hope he'll do a few for the new house...)

The kitchen: the biggest and best transformation. (I love the new house but still really miss my kitchen)

Our living room and that stupid mirror that was almost impossible to give away (for freeeeee)

We moved out a month before the closing, and Trevor and I both went by a couple of times to clean up and make sure that everything was fine. It still smelled like our place, and it still felt like our place. But it really wasn't.

Trevor and I were dating when we bought the loft, and while we lived there, we got married, we watched Henry grow from a 6 month old puppy into a 6 year old goofball, and then we lost Henry; but a year later we got Roo--all while living there, at the corner of Grand Avenue and Noble Street in West Town, up the street from Burger Baron, two blocks away from the #9 Ashland Avenue bus stop.

After we'd moved out, my mom verbalized the feeling I'd been having such a hard time identifying. She said that when you make a move like this, there's a transition period during which you feel a bit homeless: the home you had isn't yours anymore, and the home you've moved into isn't quite yours yet, either, even though you have the papers to prove that the title is in your name.

Change this big is hard, and I don't think I've quite accepted the reality that I'll never see my loft again, at least not the way I remember it. And I love the way I remember it: books to the ceiling, art on the walls, a view of the other side of our building that felt both Rear Window-ish as well as tucked away and quiet. Plus, we were totally and completely safe in the case of a zombie apocalypse (bars on the alley windows, twelve inch thick brick walls, double fire doors in the hallway, and a twelve foot high gate around the parking lot. I mean, bring it on, zombie jerks!)

But we're starting on new memories out here, and have two nice consolations: one mortgage instead of two, and a closing sale check in the bank. I can live with that.

So although I will really, really, really miss things like this:

 
I can also live with this:

Sister, Sister

The other weekend, a few days after we'd returned from our annual Power family Door County retreat, we headed out of Crystal Lake again to spend the weekend on another lake with the Bork family for a celebration of Dad Bork's birthday (I think he's 49).

Our retreat took place at Greg and Paula's lake house in Michigan, which they bought last year. The terrific cottage is on Little Crooked Lake, one of the Sister Lakes, about 17 miles east of Lake Michigan. The whole gang was there: me and Trevor, Greg, Paula and Bo, and Mom and Dad Bork.

Trevor and I drove up on Friday night after work, and although it was too dark to see them, these two fellows were there to greet us as we walked up the front steps:

I love these guys

We didn't spend too much time jabber-jawing because we needed to rest; the next morning we were heading out on the lake. T. and I had gotten bit by the pontoon bug the weekend before, in Sturgeon Bay, so we were ready to rock and roll. Or, really, ready to go tool around on a boat and drink beer. You know: rock and roll.

And Saturday morning, we were ready. Greg and Paula, who are kind of amazing hosts, fed us muffins and coffee, and Bo let us have a few pieces of his watermelon. And then, it was lake time.

Greg and Trevor get the Super Mable ready for the waverunner.

Looking good, fellas.

Since we spent the following three hours in the water (swimming, waverunner-ing, pontooning, swimming, floating with a noodle...), I didn't take any pictures. So, just deal with it.

We broke for lunch when Mom and Dad Bork arrived from the city. And after sandwiches and chips, we were back on the water.

Mom "Grandma" Bork and Bo, who is either screaming at the water or about to scoop it all into his little gob

Paula makes pontooning look gooooood.

The birthday boy and his lovely wife

Capt'n Borkster

G + P on the Super Mable

Now, you may be asking yourself, "where's Bo during all of these pontooning shenanigans?" Well, see the picture of Trevor behind the wheel of the boat? And see that lump of beach towel behind him on the right? That's Bosco.

It seems that Bo gets onto the pontoon and almost immediately falls asleep. In fact, as soon as everyone was on board, even before Greg pulled out onto the lake, Bo got onto the seats, his butt in the air, and asked Paula to cover him with his towel. The kid slept for two hours.

Is that a pile of towels?

Nope. It's just my nephew.

Apparently the novelty of having a lake house and an awesome pontoon boat have worn off for Bo. Lucky for me and T., we had no such disillusion and spent the rest of the day floating about, our pale legs kicking around in the gloriously warm water.

That evening, Greg grilled us up some dinner...

The Gregs, junior and senior, in their natural grilling habitat

...and then after waiting an appropriate amount of time (30 seconds), we headed to the front yard to get the fire pit roaring so we could do this:

Oh, hello there.

The careful roasting of marshmallows

Nothing careful about Paula's method: light it up...

...and then cool it down.

And this was the result.

Dad was a little reluctant to eat something that had been speared with a stick and roasted within an inch of its gooey little mallow life, so he abstained from the s'mores and opted to bond with Bo.

I left my pants on the boat, but I don't caaaaaaaaaare!

After we'd ingested more sugar than was good for us, we ambled inside for another round of man vs. woman Trivial Pursuit. And, obviously, we let the men win because we felt bad for them. That's all we're going to say about that.

Trevor and I drove back to Crystal Lake and promptly collapsed with vacationitis. We had a great few getaways this summer--Austin, Door County, and the Sister Lakes--but we were happy to be back to a semi-regular schedule and some work on the new house. And that work will be the focus of the next few updates, so stay tuned!

Hope you all had a wonderful summer, too. And who knows? We might just get a few more days of warm summer weather before the snowstorms start in September!