Things 3, 4 & 5

Wow. I have a lot of crap. Let's start with Thing 3:

From 365 things

I got this candle from my boyfriend in high school. It's a black light candle, which is way cool when you're 15 and sit around staring at crap under a black light. Then one day you wake up and you're 30, and you realize that this has to be the ugliest candle you've ever seen. Like, seriously. Fugly.

I'm going to attempt to sell it at our yard sale, but I can't imagine anyone would actually want to own it. The only reason I've held on to it for the past 15(!) years is that I keep thinking I'll melt it down and turn it into some other, less god-awful candle. But after a decade and a half, it might be time for me to realize that I'm not going to be struck by some artsy-crafty bug anytime soon. Which brings me to Thing 4...

From 365 things

I bought this pretty blue bottle while on a winery tour around the Finger Lakes in upstate New York. I thought the color was gorgeous and vowed to use it to decorate somehow, obviously forgetting about my lack of craftiness and apartment full of other knick-knacks, like the aforementioned ugly-ass candle. But that's what happens when you make purchases after visiting six wineries. Which brings me to Thing 5...

From 365 things

It's one thing to save a gift from a high school boyfriend or a pretty blue bottle — things that have the teensiest bit of sentimental or monetary value. But it's a true sign of illness when you save some stupid string of plastic obtained for free while drinking in the name of an Americanized holiday honoring an ethnicity of which you are less than 5%.

Maybe I saved it because of the cute, little Chicago flags. Or maybe because it's from Miller Lite — my favorite cheapo beer. Or maybe because I dropped it on a shelf one St. Patrick's Day after a few drinks and never thought about it again.

I honestly don't remember when or where I got this. And for the life of me, I can't imagine why I STILL have it. To the basement dungeon you go, cheapo Chi-rish beads. And take your empty blue bottle and ugly candle friends with you.

Too much light makes the baby go to sleep

Things 3-5 will come along later today. But for now, enjoy these pics from our friend Todd's visit and Maya's second Cubs game.

Thing 2

I don't have much of a story behind this thing, other than to say that I thought I could wear it. But I can't. I just can't pull it off.

I bought this belt online about two years ago. Since then, every few weeks I try it on with an outfit, then throw it to the side because it just doesn't looks right. And back into my closet it goes.

If, after two years, I've yet to find an outfit this belt looks cute with, then it's time to go. So long giant belt!

365 things

Oy, I haven't posted in more than a month. It's not that I don't have things to blog about: We recently had our annual Cinco de Mayo party, my uncle's doing our landscaping right now, we're getting our roof replaced, we're planning to partially redo the kitchen, and so on.

But instead of blogging about any of those things, I'm going to blog about this iron:

Thing 1

I've had this iron for many years. I don't remember exactly when I got it, but I believe it pre-dates me and Chris' itemhood, meaning that I've had it for at least 8 years.

But I haven't used it in quite a while. This used to be our back-up iron — we had another iron we liked more, but kept this one around just in case. But about a year ago, we got a new, fancy Rowenta number. It's like the Cadillac of irons. And as a result, this iron became our back-up, back-up. So, should our all-mighty Rowenta fail us, we have another iron. And if that one should fail, we have this fella.

That's a lot of ironing insurance for people who iron, oh, maybe once a month.

Which is why this iron is being sacrificed for my newest blogging project — a project I'm sure to get all gung-ho about for a week or so, and then abandon, as I'm wont to do.

I recently read an article in Body + Soul about de-cluttering — something I'm so desperate to do. Chris and I have a problem with clutter. When an English major/lawyer and journalist get married, it's inevitable. Identical copies of British literature. Every copy of Esquire from the past four years. All my newspaper and magazine clips. Old reporter's notebooks. Volumes and volumes of law books. And these are just the things I can see. Right now. From my computer.

Add to that all the things not currently in my line of sight. And then add all the clutter a 7-month-old accumulates. I'm amazed we don't have a show on TLC.

I've managed to organize, file and store things in a somewhat neat way, so to the untrained eye, we don't look like hoarders. But I still know it's there — useless crap taking up precious space in my house.

Anyway, in this article, the author talks about how she decided to tackle her own clutter problem by getting rid of one thing every day for a year. She called it 365 in 365. I instantly fell in love, and promptly decided not only to steal her idea, but to blog about it as well.

Which brings me back to this dear, old iron. This iron is going to go live in a box in the basement with some other things I had already decided to purge. I'm going to keep adding to the box every day. Then, later this summer, we're going to have a yard sale, and whatever clutter doesn't sell immediately goes to good will. And after that? The clutter collection shall continue, until I hit the one year mark, or I run out of stuff to get rid of, or I forget about the whole thing and start some other ridiculous project.

Dear CTA

We both know that this has been a long-time coming. Things have changed between us. The excitement is gone. The adoration. The passion.

I think it's time we go our separate ways.

Once upon a time, our love affair was strong. You were always there for me, and I looked forward to spending every day with you. I even painted your likeness on my wall, so I'd always feel like you were close by. But over the years, that love has faded. I'm not going to say "it's not you, it's me." Because in truth, you had a big part in our demise. But I know that I've changed, too. So, let's just say we grew apart.

It all began years ago, when I made my first sacrifice for you; I sold my dear little red truck so I could spend more time with you. I don't regret that decision now. It didn't make sense then, and still doesn't make sense now, for Chris and I to live in the city and own two cars.

Back then you and I had the perfect relationship. We'd spend a half-hour together in the morning, and then again in the afternoon. I truly cherished that time every day. I loved sitting on the bus, reading a book, looking out the window at the lake, or zoning out while watching your reticular middle twist and turn. I'll never forgot that time four years ago when I was sitting in the back row of the bus on my way to work, and my mom called to tell me I had a nephew. "It's a boy?!" I cried, a little too loud on the usually silent morning commute. A few people looked at me, but you didn't judge. You were happy for me.

Although we had a great thing going then, on the home front, living in a tiny Lakeview apartment with no backyard for Rosie was getting difficult. So, Chris and I moved to Logan Square. This strained our relationship a bit. I changed bus routes, and as a result, you became less reliable. You came around less often each morning and afternoon. On the other hand, we were spending more time together, about 45 minutes each morning and afternoon. But due to your unpredictability, I started to resent that extra time spent together.

Still, we stayed together, and we were mostly exclusive. Sometimes in the summer, I'd ride my bike to and from work. But otherwise, you were my one and only mode of transportation.

But then Chris and I decided to buy a house, and we moved to North Center. Again, us moving wasn't your fault. I take full responsibility for that. But once again, the move strained our relationship. I had to change my daily commute, using both the bus and the train. And for the first time, I started to feel like you weren't there for me.

I'd start out each morning walking to the bus stop. I'd try to time my arrival with when bus tracker said you'd arrive. But bus tracker was often wrong, so I missed the bus a lot. On this new bus route, you come around even less often than my previous one. So if I missed the bus, many times another wasn't due for nearly a half hour. So, I'd walk from the bus stop to the train, which usually took about 15 minutes.

Once to the train station, usually I didn't have to wait too long for you to arrive. I will give you credit for that. On my particular line, you're usually pretty dependable. However, the amount of time we had to spend together was lengthy, about a half hour. Then after getting off the train, I had to walk the better part of a mile to get to my office. This is because you don't offer any stops on my line close to my office, nor do you offer a bus route from my line to the office. So, all together, my commute took more than hour each morning. Considering I live roughly 7 miles from work, this isn't a very efficient use of my time.

Still, STILL, I stayed with you. Granted, I did start to stray a bit more — taking a cab or driving in. But you were still my number one choice. At least until this year.

As you know, Chris and I recently became parents. And when I returned to work, we started taking our daughter to a daycare in the South Loop every day. Once again, our decision to enroll her at this particular daycare is not your fault. But the decision ultimately revealed to me just how broken, unreliable and discriminating you can be.

Because I loved you and thought you were still the best option for me and my infant daughter, I tried, repeatedly, to commute with you every day. Chris and I first tried putting the baby in a stroller and commuting in. We'd take the bus to the train, then the train downtown. But sadly, and maddeningly, you do NOT offer handicap access at the stop closest to the daycare. No handicap access means no elevators, which means no way for us to get from the train platform down to the street. Not only was this frustrating for us, but the fact that you don't even offer people in wheelchairs to access some of your stations is downright criminal.

Despite these tremendous faults, I kept trying to make the commute work. I tried putting the baby in a Bjorn, thereby removing the no-elevator issue. Although this did make getting from the train to the platform easier (although carrying the baby, my purse, and her daycare bag wasn't exactly easy), it did nothing to resolve your biggest problem — your lack of reach. Once off the train, I had to walk a half mile to the daycare. Then, after dropping her off, I had to walk that half mile again back to the train. Then, I usually had to wait at least 15 minutes for you to come around. Once you did, I'd take you to the stop closest to my office, and then had to walk another 5 or so minutes in.

All together, from the time I left my house to the time I got to work, was close to 2 hours — just for the morning commute. Then I had to do all of it, or part of it, over again in the evening. As much as I love you, I refuse to spend close to 4 hours with you every day. Sorry, I just have other needs in my life. It can't be about YOU all the time.

Chris and I have started driving in every day. Even with the construction and the traffic, we're at work within an hour, sometimes less. And that includes dropping off the baby, parking and walking to work. And, considering how many modes of transit and stops we had to use before, parking actually costs the same as you. Granted, there's the cost of gas and mileage. And there's also the environmental guilt I feel every day. But ultimately, the amount of stress relieved and amount of time saved makes up for both the economical and moral drawbacks.

This isn't goodbye forever. We can still be friends. I know we'll still see each other from time to time. Chances are, you'll still be there for me when I want to commute to and from a baseball game, or I've had too much to drink (or both). As unreliable as you are, I know you'll still be there for me then.

But our daily relationship is over for now. I hope that someday we can work things out. Maybe we'll move again to a more CTA-friendly area (but I doubt it). Or maybe you'll finally expand your reach and access (again, doubtful). Maybe we'll find some other, yet unforeseen, compromise.

At least I hope so, because I will always, ALWAYS, have feelings for you, and I know I'm going to miss you terribly.

So long for now,

Sarah

Working mother

It's been one of those weeks. (Mind you, it's only Tuesday). A week when I feel like I'm not devoting enough attention to my career, to my family, to my house, to my fitness, to my wardrobe. I want to work my ass off, be a devoted wife and mother, with a clean house, toned abs, a killer wardrobe and an actual hairstyle.

I keep thinking I can do and be all these things, if I just watched less television, got up earlier, spent less time on the Internet, prioritized more, organized more, and made even more to-do lists. Then today, I read this article in the New York Times. The article isn't about my generation, but it hits the nail on the head:

"It did not take long, of course, before the guilt set in ... They expected to be both their mothers (or their rosy memory of what their mothers had been) and their fathers (who won the bread but never dreamed of baking it), and because that is an impossible task, they felt they had failed. The old guideposts were gone, and new ones had not been established."

The article is by Lisa Belkin. I read her book, “Life’s Work: Confessions of an Unbalanced Mom” years ago, before I was a wife or mother. It might be time to read it again.

Not sleeping

I know, I know. I haven't posted in more than a month. But I have a really good excuse: The Wunder household is officially NOT SLEEPING

When Maya was about six weeks old, she suddenly starting sleeping through the night. And not just for five or six hours. No, no. This angel slept for 11 hours straight. Every night. It was pure bliss. Having done very little to prompt this — no sleep training or meticulously scheduled bedtime routine — I knew I was damn lucky.

Then, when she was about 4 1/2 months old, she got her first cold. (Not coincidentally, this was also a few weeks after starting daycare). So, with all the sneezing and congestion, she had some trouble sleeping. But it wasn't too bad. We'd get up with her, use the bulb syringe (or as we call, the brain sucker) to clear her nose a bit, then help her fall back to sleep. Sometimes, I'd nurse her if she were really having trouble sleeping. But all in all, this only happened once or twice a night, and only lasted for 15 minutes to an hour. No big deal, especially because one week of getting up at night while baby gets over a cold isn't that bad.

Except, after that cold, she got another one. And then another. And another. In fact, for the past two months, she has been just getting a cold or just getting over one almost every day. And her nighttime wakings have been getting worse and worse. Currently, she has a nasty chest cold that has her stuffed up and makes her cough a ton. We have a cool-mist humidifier running, but it doesn't seem to help. For a while, we had her sleeping in her bouncy chair because it kept her a little more upright, and that helped for about a week. But it's not working anymore.

The past week has been absolute hell. She will only sleep when face down on either my or Chris' chest — preferably his as it's wider and far less bumpy than mine. Unfortunately, though, neither Chris nor I can sleep like this. So we take turns not sleeping. (To be fair, Chris takes the not-sleeping duty way more than me.)

Some nights, like last night, she just won't sleep. I tried all the go-to moves: face down on chest, upright in bouncy chair, rocking, nursing, brain sucking, rhythmic butt patting. Nothing worked. She just cried, rubbed her eyes, coughed, sneezed, and cried some more. It's so frustrating. And she seems to sense this because most nights, when I feel like I've reached my limit, she'll suddenly stop crying, look up at me, take my face in both of her hands, and give me the biggest, sweetest, toothless smile. Like, "Hey Mom, I know this sucks, but thanks for sticking around. Love ya!"

At least, that's what I'd like to believe. Chances are, it's more like "So, who's holding me anyway? Oh it's you. I know you!"

Oy.

I've read up on all the sleep methods, sleep training, etc. Problem is, these all say you need to try when baby's healthy. So, maybe when cold and flu season officially ends in late-April/early-May, we'll start sleeping again.

Which should be right in time for teething.

Curling, pillows and smelly cat

I must admit that I've really gotten into Olympic curling. I don't totally understand it, but it's fun to watch anyway.

Last night, Chris and I came home from a wake (sadly, this was the second wake Maya's attended in her 5 months of life), opened a beer, and promptly fell asleep on the couch watching women's curling. When I awoke and tried to get Chris to come up to bed later, we had this exchange:

Chris: Did you remember the stuff?
Me: What stuff?
Chris: The baby's hair stuff.
Me: Huh?
Chris: The stuff she sits on.
Me: What?
Chris: The Olympic stuff.
Me: What stuff?
Chris: The curling stuff.
Me: What are you talking about?
Chris: Nevermind. 

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but Chris talks in his sleep. Not often enough or with enough hilarity to start a blog like this one, but it's nonetheless entertaining — like the time a few years ago when he woke me up and asked me if I remembered to get the dog's uniform. 

Although sometimes it's a little scary. For example, a few weeks ago he got up in the middle of the night and started patting down his pillow. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he wanted to see if the baby was in there. I of course freaked out and started asking him why the baby would be in his pillow case. He got confused and went back to sleep. I ran to the crib, where the baby was sleeping soundly.

There have been many other times he's woken me up to ask me random questions. Unfortunately, I usually fall asleep again and can't remember what was exchanged. I should start keeping my cell phone nearby so I can tweet what he says.

In totally unrelated news, I've been reading this blog lately called This Old Smelly House. It's about a couple who bought a house from a crazy cat lady. Some of the stuff they've uncovered is eerily similar to things we've found. It makes me wish I had done a better job of documenting every crazy discovery we made after moving in because — surprisingly, and somewhat sadly — the walls covered in bird poop and pee-soaked carpeting were just the tip of the iceberg.

Sweet free

If you watch way too much TV like I do, you might have noticed that the fast food restaurants are starting to roll out their fish-themed advertising. (McDonald's "Give me back that filet-of-fish" is easily my fave, though I haven't seen it yet this year). This influx of meat-free ads means one thing: it's Lent. Well, almost. It starts tomorrow.

After sort of giving up alcohol last year (I gave it up, but really just used Lent as an excuse for not drinking because I hadn't revealed my pregnancy yet), and giving up meat in 2008, I thought I'd try on a new vice to banish. So as of tomorrow, I'm giving up sweets. No cakes, cookies, candies or confections.

Appropriately, I've so far spent my Fat Tuesday eating Oreos and chocolate-covered pretzels.

This is a strange restriction for me. During my college years, I totally lost my sweet tooth. I'm not sure why. I remember going months without eating sweets for no reason other than having absolutely no taste for them. Then, I graduated and started working in an office. And that's when the 3 p.m. sweet tooth set in.

Now, when late-afternoon rolls around and my morning coffee has long worn off, I start scavenging for sweets. Mostly, this scavenging takes places in my cube mate's desk drawer. When the drawer's offerings aren't up to my standards, I try the kitchen on the off-chance that there are leftover cookies from a client meeting, or one of our many fabulous home bakers brought in some goodies. When all those options bear no fruit, I usually give up. Although on occasion, I hit up the vending machines or convenience store for my fix (typically, peanut M&Ms).

I still haven't worked out the exact restrictions. Can I have a fruity cocktail? O how about pancakes if I don't use syrup? And what about jelly? I don't know. Guess I'll figure it out along the way (i.e. justify that something isn't technically a "sweet," eat it, and then feel guilty....have I mentioned that I'm not Catholic?)

Christmas Cards

Back in December, I sent out a round of Christmas cards, mostly to people who live out of town, knowing that those cards would take the longest to arrive. Then, in mid-January, I sent out another set. This time to family in and around Chicago. I saved many of my friends for the last stack, knowing they'd be most forgiving about receiving a Christmas card in late-January.

But now it's February, and that stack of about 20 cards still sits on my desk at work. Cards I stuffed into envelopes, addressed and return addressed, and then never sent. I have excuses: Every time I went to CVS to get stamps, they were out. Then I went back to work full time, then we went out of town, then... it just never happened.

So I've decided that as penance for my extreme tardiness, I need to hand deliver the rest of my Christmas cards. Because really, I'd rather visit and socialize with my friends than send them some meaningless card. That's the whole Christmas spirit, right? Taking the time to keep in touch with old friends?

At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

Merry Christmas everybody!