Chicago

Good morning America! We have tickets! We leave in less than a week (nothing like waiting until the last minute, right?) and have a stopover in Chicago before heading to California.

I’ve only been to Chicago twice and both times I was at the train station. My first visit I was a baby faced high school student and as my delicate California-kissed skin hit the heat and humidity of Chicago in July inside the underground train tunnel the first thought to enter my brain was, “this must be what hell is like.” 20(ish) years later and that’s still how I picture hell: the dark, thick, hazy air, the rumble of the train engines that I felt as well as heard, my ears full of hissing and spitting as my awkward duffle bag banged against my shins and the strap cut into my shoulder as we walked forever to escape the steamy deafening darkness only to enter steamy deafening brightness.

The second time was much like the first, though I was only in Chicago to change trains and I welcomed the loud steamy earthy groundedness of it all because it meant that I wasn’t miles above in a sterile tin can whisking me to Connecticut in 1/16th of the time. Nope, I was taking the safe way — a 20 something pregnant woman traveling alone for two days on a train. What could go wrong there? Thankfully the only nefarious creatures I ran into were the ones that stole my phonecard number when I used it at a pay phone (both technologies obsolete now) and spent the next month calling Russia/USSR/the Soviet Union/whatever it was called back then until I got the bill in the mail the following month and had to spend many hours on the phone sorting that out. Yep, train travel is awesome.

This time we’re heading to Chicago with a boatload of kids and luggage to visit family on the first leg of our tour de USA (ooh, it will be July so we can actually watch the tour in English this year — win!). I’m looking forward to seeing more than the train station, especially since we’re arriving the way that people who have conquered their phobias travel, by air. For the 3rd time it will be at the hight of the summer heat and humidity, though I’m curious to see how it stacks up against what is normal for us. I’m packing sweatshirts for all of us, just on case. Maybe I’ll have to change my idea of hell to searing, swampy, isolating, and sweaty Bahraini days.

Men will be boys

I know they say that men are just little boys in big bodies and as my boys get older and bigger, I’m actually seeing how that could be true. They are on a Star Wars kick lately and they begged me to buy them all lightsabers so they could have a Jedi Training School and something about a Sith council (I’m sure I’m getting this all wrong). Anyway, the point is that they haven’t played with lightsabers for years — 5 years, as Amazon so kindly reminded me. You purchased this item on October 27th, 2008. Yes, I know Amazon, but I guess 14 isn’t too old for a lightsaber streetfight after all. 

They were putting on a show for Camille and me tonight before bed. The 4th light is our neighbor friend from across the street. It is a fully thought out training program with an entry exam to find out if you are skilled in the ways of the Jedi or the bad guys (are the Siths bad guys?) and that determines the color of your lightsaber and they go on the roof and have meetings and lightsaber training sessions. As long as it gets them out from in front of the TV or the computer I’m happy.

While the boys are mastering the ways of the force, my little girl is turning into Rambo.
A bit cuter than Sly, but just as tough. 

Flopping

It’s been a busy weekend with lots of running around, parties, and fun. Counting down the days until Josh gets home and can share in all the “fun.” Last night was my second rug flop. This is before it started when they were bringing all the carpets from the van into the house. This was just the first pile. 
The guy “flops” them out on the floor in front of everyone. The top 2 are 100% wool and cost around $1500 each. It sounds like it’s crazy expensive, but they would cost way more than that back in the states. And when you think that it took someone months or years to hand knot every little bit of it (the wool ones were something like 200 to 500 knots per square inch) the price sounds much more reasonable. 
This is the end of a runner that I really liked. You don’t see many wool carpets with that much variation in color. His starting price was $1000 and I know I could have gotten it for a bit less than that, but I’m not coughing up that much money for something that my kids are going to wipe their feet on. Not yet anyway. Maybe before we leave the island. Caleb really liked this one and kept saying, “Are we getting the running one?” And you know that’s exactly what he would want to do on my very expensive piece of floor art. 
This one was over $2000 because it’s silk on silk. Really beautiful. It had something like 800 knots per square inch. 
I almost went home with this silk one (and it was more amazing in real life — it even changes colors depending on which way you view it), but in the end couldn’t spend $1500. Check back in a few months after I’ve been to a few more rug flops and $1500 starts sounding like a bargain.  
It was a late night. 11pm and she was done. 

Let’s go to the hop!

As an end of the year celebration, the Elementary school had a parent/student “sock hop.” 
It’s no secret that we started out the year on rough ground since they couldn’t possibly compare to my first love, TAISM. But I begrudgingly admit that my cold, hard heart is warming to their charms after several great events this past month: game night — that I haven’t posted about yet, swim meet/mile swim, promotion ceremony, and now the opportunity to dance with 2 handsome men.
I was thrilled to find that it wasn’t a skeevy dance, nor one where everyone stands around the edges and nibbles on chips. They played tons of 50s music, some classic Elvis, and a few modern standbys, like the “Chicken Dance.” It was really fun seeing parents dancing with their kids, with each other, or taking photos of all the cuteness.
The kids could get photos taken with their friends in the old fashioned “car.”
The sister was not a willing dance partner
This smooth mover insisted on wearing his suit — it goes nicely with the bat face painting on his cheek.
The conga line got going and the party was on!
She wasn’t keen on attaching to the person ahead of her, but she managed to keep up
The sweetest part was that Carter actually wanted to spend time with me and Camille. He said he wasn’t interested in going unless we came. 
I think the kid is growing . . .
Of course, they played Rockin’ Robin. 
That smile from both of us means only one more day of school!

Crash

So I had a post written about how someone crashed into my friend when she was driving on the freeway, but then the webpage crashed and I lost most of it and didn’t feel like rewriting. It wasn’t anything of importance or particularly funny anyway. In short: Murphy’s Law strikes again when husbands are out of the country, the roads here are more dangerous than any protesters or molotov cocktails we might run into, and I see basic safety rules violated by other drivers all the time. The End.

I’m in sort of a mood today. I’m overtired and frustrated. My brother-in-law’s surgery hasn’t been able to diminish his pain as we had hoped and as an extra kick in the nuts he has new and worse pain and loss of sensation. I never cry, but I’m in tears today. I’m supposed to be a writer, but I have no words.

We still don’t have tickets home, but supposedly all that’s left is the formality of actually booking the tickets. It doesn’t really matter. Not today anyway.

So this post isn’t a complete downer, here’s a photo of my girlie crashed on the beanbag in the living room in the middle of the afternoon.

This never happens. 
But this was the day that my friend was in the car accident so we went to pick up her two year old daughter so she wouldn’t have to juggle a kid and the crazy paperwork. 6 hours of jockeying for position, making sure the other little girl didn’t take her Dora the Explorer microphone, her favorite Legos or play with her kitchen wore Camille out. Me too.