Awesome Wednesday follows Super Tuesday.

Oh my goodness. First of all- hurrah for the momentous occasion that was last night in Grant Park, Chicago (and, in fact, all over the country and benevolent parts of the world)- Barack Obama! A new president! Can you feel the economy begin to prop itself up on its elbows? Who else feels this crazy urge to buy more cowboy boots on eBay? 

P.J. and I watched from our quiet living room, although we envied friends (and, apparently, entire neighborhoods) who were able to cheer downtown with Oprah and Jesse Jackson. (Just another Tuesday night in Chicago, folks.)

After hearing all day about incredibly long lines for voting I was extremely apprehensive about spending all night in line at the Audubon School. P.J. went at 6am and stood in line for almost an hour and folks I work for spent crazy amounts of time in line for early voting this past month! Turns out, I owe them all a huge thank you. It seems that everyone and their nanny voted early...leaving me with zero lines. And sixty judges and appellate-type people to vote on. (I had a list of approved candidates from Jack's mom who's a lawyer...but seriously, I probably would have voted for John Doody anyhow.)

And another mammoth happening...my big sister Kate's 30th birthday is today! So, happiest of happy birthdays to the girl who was the co-proprietor of the Starlight Cafe in our basement (on a Fisher Price stove with Jack and Jill wooden chairs), the announcer at the roller rink and the emcee of our Laugh-In episodes- also in the extremely roomy basement- the architect of the best tree houses and chairperson of the waterways at the Hancock Road brook and the co-fanatic of the Mickey Mouse Club, Kids Incorporated and Where In the World Is Carmen Sandiego. (Also the best big sister of the babies. Who are now 21. But who still mess up all our best blanket tents and Cabbage Patch hospitals.)

That whole Barack thing...early present for her. You (and the world) are SO welcome!

Can I turn in this blog for class?

I've said it before but it apparently bears repeating- I apologize for the once-a-week bloggin'. I have no idea what's going on in my mind; the part that takes care of good ideas and sentence phrasing is drooling in the corner of my right brain. And lest you think it's just the fanciful and fun writing that's suffering- OH NO. The course at Chicago Dramatists that's costing roughly half a month's rent is being exposed to my lazybonesness as well. It's an advanced playwriting class geared towards, you know, finishing a play. And when they asked for my scene last night? I nervously shrugged and tried to change the subject, reminding me harshly of my third year in a row taking pre-Algebra. 

So there you go. And now, random bits of everything that have caught my eye:

I'm hardly an outspoken political activist by any means, but I couldn't resist repeating some of these gems from 'Parenting Magazine' (which I am currently reading from underneath a dining room table, having just swaddled every Sesame Street character in towels as patients in a baby hospital.) Now 'Parenting', not to be confused with some of the better child-rearing rags- such as 'Parents'- makes up for their lack of content by polling their readers on every other page. This month's Mom Debate- "Which candidate would you trust to watch your kids, Barack Obama or John McCain?" (When would this situation possibly arise? Way to ask the nation's vital questions, 'Parenting'.) Anyway. Two of my favorite McCain responses are as follows:

"He has the family values I look for in a caregiver."  (As in, he's white? I know you don't mean his rockstar marriages.)

"My kids love spending time with grandparents and grandparentlike people, probably because they let them do whatever they want." (Oh my. That's an uplifting thought for the country!)

And the best tip from this issue's section on easy fixes: too busy to treat yourself right during your (actual phrasing-->) "monthly misery?" A no hassle cure- acupuncture!

Thanks, "Parenting!" I'm too busy to pop an ibuprofen and heat an herbal neck wrap, but I can totally hop on the eL and find someone to pincushion me. (I believe we have different ideas on what "no hassle" means.)

And Kate gave me this amazing bit of actual news from a small paper in Boston: next to stories about muggings, car accidents and that ilk was a story about a forensic team that had to be brought into an office building. Apparently a bizarre white powder was found sprinkled on the desks and people, naturally, panicked. Upon further examination the powder was found to be a combination of ground pumpkin seeds and tree bark. Why? A co-worker wished to bring love, protection and good health to the office. Of course! (I'm kinda wondering why it was white. Maybe it was birch bark. Hey, have you ever had birch beer? Yums.) So, thanks Kate! The hard news can literally be found anywhere these days.

And happy birthday this past Monday to my favorite husband. We had an awesome time with his folks, a few friends, copious amounts of Turkish food and more than one man singing along with the stereo. At 3am. We are still awaiting the arrival of his birthday present in the mail- Rock Band for Wii with the guitar, the mic, and yes, the drum kit. (So the next 3am party will be even louder!) And happy birthday TODAY to Ajay! (Unless he's given up reading this blog in favor of ones that actually post items.) But on the assumption that he's still a loyal reader- HAPPY BIRTHDAY! 

All these October birthdays...lotsa people's folks must've been feeling snuggly in February. It is mighty cold.

And not to jinx it or anything, but we MAY have found a condo. That's all I'm saying. (Except for the fact that it's 2200 square feet of vintage detail, there's a maid's quarters which will be someone's office if she ever has anything to write, four bedrooms, three baths and a living room big enough in which to play tennis- Wii or otherwise.)

AND, if I were the 'saying too much' type, I'd mention that the address is 1227 (27 is P.J.'s lucky number) and he just turned 27. Plus, the storage unit locker number is 42. I won't insult you by explaining that one. 

Remember when I asked who'd come up to Jefferson Park? Well, uh...how do you all feel about Rogers Park? 

I've said too much.

And I haven't gotten a pumpkin yet, either.

Yes, it's true. I haven't posted in a long time. I hate that I've been blogging once a week- people hate once a week. Once a week makes people super unhappy. Thusly I'm sorry.

So here's a blog, even though I do not have much to report. (To put it at the basest and most extraordinarily trite level; I haven't even been able to update my Facebook statuses lately.) 

I did just get to [accidentally] throw a container of blueberries in the air and watch them scatter and smush themselves on the kitchen floor. Baby Lil tried to help me (read: she raced over when the sound of chaos reached her small but extremely alert ears) And if any of you have ever tried to play Are You Faster Than An 18 Month Old, you'll know that it's a game no one wins. At best, you have a fistful of oozy blueberries covered in cat hair.

In other news, children of all ages continue to Not Nap, Annie's in a hilariously awesome show called "Carpenter's Halloween" (as in Richard and Karen) at Mary's Attic and I'm eating a Greek salad that is predominantly feta. 

I had a lovely visit with New England and 3/4 of my family, saw my Dad rock one of his many guitars in a super cool benefit show and drank hot cider too quickly (and thus burned the roof of my mouth.) I am just reporting the facts, people.

Houses continue to be Horrific Places That Smell Like Old Food, homes we want to buy get taken OFF THE MARKET (yes, divorce is terrible, but deal with issues on your own time!) and I have yet to write two short stories and a scene about Tom's brush with animal husbandry. Actually, there's probably many short stories and scenes about brushes with animal husbandry that I have yet to write, but these three instances have specifically been put on a deadline. Also, the short stories are about something else entirely. Double also, wouldn't Tom's Brush With Animal Husbandry be a great band name or pop-up book?

Someone put me to bed. And send a muse. And could you play some Enya? The Celtic album. I love that one.

Thank you.

Jefferson Park. That sounds far.

On the way to work this morning (on Tealie Elizabasket, might I add) I passed a lot of construction sites, workers lounging and porta-potties. The best part? The "company name," as it were...is The Drop Zone. Okay. I can think of three really inappropriate things about naming your portolet company The Drop Zone. Anyone else? Go.

And speaking of poop (I really hope this doesn't turn into a post about poop, I honestly don't know how this happens) on our way along the Chicago Marathon race site we passed signs that read- Poop If Ya Gotta!

Okay!

And on the topic of the marathon and no more poop...we got to see a bit of the marathon (and a teense of Greektown) when we went to cheer on the marvelous Annie Gloyn in her second marathon! 26.2 miles is impressive anyhow, but Annie one-upped the challenge by racing during an 83 degree day! She is so hardcore. (As are Tom and Emma, who, from what I'm told, won the Boston half marathon. Together. Awesome.)

On our way back home on the blue line (a.k.a the Pee Pee Line- see, folks? Excrement is everywhere) we decided to ride to the Jefferon Park stop to check out (stalk) the home we're jonesing for and the surrounding 'hood. We hopped off and saw pretty much what you'd expect; a dingy, busy Chicago terminal with tons of productive people chilling on benches. We passed a McDonalds and a few rib joints (one of which is actually supposed to be really good.) We crossed under the Metra track (throw in a helicopter and a cab and you've got every way of actually getting to this neighborhood) and...we rubbed our eyes. Suddenly we were in Mayberry. Tree-lined streets, folks waving hello and sitting on porch swings. I'm sure the colorful leaves and the sunny day helped but we were blissing out on the 'burbiest part of the city. We walked past the house we're eyeing (twice) and marvelled at it's hugeness. It must be floorless, we told ourselves. That's just how our house luck runs these days.

So the next night we had an appointment to see the home at 6:15. Well, 6:15 came and went, as did 6:30, 6:45 and so on. The house was dark and no one was answering their phones. P.J. and I took advantage of this time to run around the backyard, jump on the porch and troll the gardens. The longer we were there without the owners the bolder we became in how we'd fix it up.

"This porch needs to be shored up. Maybe we should redo it in stone?"

"This side yard needs to be dug up and re-sod. Is that a word?"

"That carport? Tear it up!"

Regardless, we were still eager to see what the owners HAD done inside the house. We finally got a series of calls in which "the owner" told us that he was "on his way." While we waited we saw a black cat who happened to cross our paths. Three times. In fact, it was more of a circling motion. P.J. reminded me later that the cat also lunged at me and rubbed himself against my boot. Somehow I blocked this out. I think I was frantically trying to pray to the saint of undoing a black cat's bad luck. Am I mixing religions again?

Finally, at 7:15pm the front door opened and an eldery man stood silhouetted in the darkness. And he was shirtless. (Did I forget to mention this part, people I spoke to last night? He was totally shirtless. And old. But sans fried chicken so we were hopeful.)

Turns out, this guy had been asleep in the attic the whole time, as evidenced by a rumpled bed and a blaring television set. (Sing it with me, folks...foreCLOOOOOSUUUUUUUREEEE. It's a song sung predominantly by white middle class folks who later feel terrible about themselves.)

HOWEVER. The house was beautiful. Truly. And not just 'cause I'm feeling guilty about the foreclosure comment. The woodwork was kinda stunning, the floors were gleaming, there was a staircase in the front and back of the house (we could play Benny Hill!) and there was tons of room. The kitchen was CLEAN and the bathrooms new. Sure, there was a double sink on the first floor bathroom but it was a NEW double sink! Upstairs were four really big bedrooms, closets and another full clean bathroom! Crazy. A foyer opened off the hallway to the attic staircase. Upstairs, aside from hosting a tired elderly person, the attic also featured two really big unfinished rooms without the scariness we've been used to. There was also a wide staircase down into the basement- no matter, as I will never never go down there (I hate basements) but it's a decent thing for P.J. to know about. Add to that a large yard and some cool neighbors we met during our HOUR wait...it may just work. If we can get money off for that leany porch. And, you know, ripping up the carport. And if they removed EVERYTHING currently in the house. (Seriously, there were like three entertainment units and four couches in the living room alone. And lots of children's things. As P.J. ominously whispered in his best Lifetime/horror movie/after school special voice, "Where are the children?")

And now that I think about it, why did they leave Grandpa in charge of showing the house? Sans shirt and sans English? Imagine who they removed...

So now I suppose the question remains (who am I kidding...there's a trillion questions) who's feelin' Jefferson Park? (And who's gonna bring me takeout from all the Roscoe restaurants I crave?)

And I hope you're all cool with handmade Christmas presents this year.