Our New Old House

Seven plus years ago, we moved from the Ranch at 4 North West to a little white house with a little more space. We bought the house out of foreclosure and in disrepair. It actually wasn't white at the time, but a dirty, worn beige. The wood frame was rotting in several places. The chimney was a brick or two away from falling down. And the inside. Oh the inside.

It was ours though. And over time, we repainted, redecorated, replanted (after a weekend war on poke weeds), and re-outfitted the house to make it home sweet home; a perfect place to start and then grow our family.

The white house with the red door became the backdrop for so much of our family's life. We made countless meals in the kitchen, paced the rooms late at night with crying babes, danced across our sun room floor, snuggled by the fire, and played hard in the basement. We hosted parties and welcomed many guests. We planted and weeded, hid Easter eggs and found them, grilled and picnicked, ran through and sprayed the sprinkler, raked and bagged, cider pressed and sipped, sledded and built snowmen in our yard. We used the house to its full potential and cherished our time there.

Kid by kid, we outgrew it though. Mostly, the line for the bathroom got too long. So we looked and looked, until this Spring, we found a house and a yard that suited all five of us.

On Thursday, we packed everything up. On Friday, we sold the white house, bought the big house, moved out of the old one, and into the new one. It was an amazing day, filled with energy and excitement.

On Saturday, we started unpacking, and unpacking, and unpacking ... and I'm still unpacking.

That night, we went to bed, full on Nabuki sushi (the first meal in our new house) proud, exhausted, and satisfied. With all the stuff going on, I felt like I hadn't slept in a week, so I crashed and slept hard ...

... until 2:30 AM. Margaret had woken up, crying from a fever. I gave her Tylenol, attempted to rock her back to sleep, but noticed that I was rocking to the rhythms of water dripping. I got up, Margaret in tow, to investigate. It wasn't coming from the bathroom, it was coming from somewhere else. Bobby's room. I opened the door, and saw water dripping down, not in any small amount from the fan. F! I woke up Peter with the warning, 'we have a problem.'

Peter was up. I threw Margaret down in our bed. Lights went on in Bobby's room. Bobby was up. 'Hey guys, what's going on?' He got thrown in our bed too, welcomed by Margaret shouting 'hey Bubba!' The two of them laughed in bed together (at 3:00 AM) as Peter and I set out to get into the attic sans stairway to investigate the AC unit.

The ladder was in the garage, under the Guest House where Nana and Opa were sleeping, so thoughtfully we tried alternative methods of ascension. The original strategy was to stand on a chair and levitate into the attic. That didn't work. So we pulled out Margaret's dresser which gave us a little more height. Standing on top of it gave Peter the chance to dangle from the attic's entry way and pull himself up. He dangled, but then fell, like a cat, to the ground. I then offered to provide some cheer leading support, giving him a mount from dresser to my hands, into the attic. 1-2-3, that worked. He was up.

Yep, there is a problem. The condensation from the AC unit was filling up a drip tray and spilling over, so let's talk about next steps. We're going to siphon the water out.
Ok.
We need the hose.
The hose?
It was 3:30 AM and the new neighbor, moi, was outside uncoiling the hose and bringing the whole honking thing into the house. I passed one side up to Peter and I held the other. I followed his instructions from there.
Put that side into the tub.
Ok.
Now suck on it.
What?
Suck on it.
Umm ...
Are you sucking on it?
Ahhh ... yep.
Is it working?
Nothing is coming out, so I'm thinking no.
Suck again. The water will come out slowly so you'll have time to pull your mouth away.
Oh my God. YUCK! Okay, sucking again.
Glub, glub, glub ... the water started moving from the attic to the bathroom and we were in business. The water was out, the dripping eventually stopped, the kids had fallen asleep after their twilight party, and I crashed harder than I did at the beginning of the night.

For the past two nights, Peter and I have been team siphon. Or more accurately, team f-ing siphon. The HVAC man came out yesterday though, gave us an estimate, and we gratefully accepted the proposal.

So we have a couple things to do besides unpack. We knew that walking in. While it's our new house, it's actually older than the white house, built in 1926.

I'm still in love with everything about it though. We have space. And better yet, more than one bathroom. Peter and I aren't crashing into each other in the kitchen. We have a driveway that the kids ride up and down. And the yard, it's the best.

And perhaps one of my favorite parts - it has a place for our visitors to stay. While we used to recommended accommodations at the Hyatt Lodge, we can now have people stay with us. And fittingly, the Lodge's most valued guests, were our first guests.


The house is beautiful, and to me, represents a decade of hard work between Peter and I.. It also means I'll be working for the rest of my life, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Now to plan the housewarming party. 

Lo.
     
Some more posts over the years where the white house plays a central role:
http://theearlyriser.blogspot.com/2012/04/house-rules.html
http://theearlyriser.blogspot.com/2012/06/brewer-baker-and-mimosa-maker.html
http://theearlyriser.blogspot.com/2013/03/milk-maid.html
http://theearlyriser.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-twelve-hours-of-christmas.html
http://theearlyriser.blogspot.com/2014/03/party-girl.html
http://theearlyriser.blogspot.com/2015/01/survival-of-cutest.html
http://theearlyriser.blogspot.com/2016/03/my-little-princess.html
http://theearlyriser.blogspot.com/2017/10/another-year-another-press.html
http://theearlyriser.blogspot.com/2017/08/a-week-and-day.html
http://theearlyriser.blogspot.com/2018/08/margaret-x-one.html

Under One Big Roof in Hilton Head

Last week, we packed many bags and flew to Savannah, Georgia for the start of a beach vacation.

While in Savannah, we stayed at the Kimpton Brice, jumped in their posh pool and ate a posh, but very late dinner. We did a running and then pedi cab tour around the city, had brunch at the Grey Market, spooked the kids with ghost stories, went through the Ships of the Sea Maritime Museum, bought some new sandals, put our stuff back in our rented Ford Explorer, and then drove up to Hilton Head.

Every other year (or so), my parents like to bring us together under one roof, usually along a southeastern shoreline. This year, we returned to Hilton Head Island where we had vacationed several times as family of five back in the 80s and 90s. Much of it was the same: the Spanish Moss dramatically hanging from the trees, the threat of alligators submerged in the golf course water traps, the humidity that could practically be bottled, literally the same guy singing under the live oak in Harbor Town, the populace on leisure bikes peddling away their stress on the many island trails, and the jelly fish lined beaches keeping me only knee deep in the ocean.

There were differences though. For one, the size of the rental house. My parents now need to accommodate a family of fourteen, not five: that's three in-laws and six grandchildren added to the bed tally, grocery list, dinner reservation, bike rental, and noise level.

I can see why my parents prefer to invest in a big house instead of separate hotel rooms or condos though. While on any given week, they have grandchildren sleeping over, family around the Sunday dinner table, and rooms that are still very much dedicated to their three children, they are empty nesters. And I'm sure it's hard having their kids split across other households now, with my branch being the farthest from their nest.

Part of Merriam Webster's definition of family is the notion that it resides under one roof. And I can sense how special it is, especially to my parents, when we are able to fit within this definition again.

While in theory, a family should easily come together as one household again, it can take adjustment and practice. My family has unique rhythms to life, as all families do, that I sometimes forget. For instance, my parents only carry the salt free, whole grain, or low fat versions of traditional snack foods (to my kids dismay). And my Mom needs diet Tonic Water for cocktail hour, which tends to start a little before 5:00 PM. Everyone is really focused on daily workouts. And not getting to work out is the ultimate cause of angst. My brother anxiously anticipates a meal and then loudly and rudely announces his satisfaction with it. There are a lot of lawyers in the room and my sister still finds a way to get the last word in. Notre Dame football is a go to conversation starter. But for a more therapeutic discussion, a walk and talk with my Mom can be fruitful, plus always promises good gossip. And I'm a middle child again; with so many people around, it's hard to get the attention my breed desires.

Then you add the newer recruits, finding a different set of patterns, adjusting accordingly. They also need to work out. There are early morning photos to capture, and early evening fish to reel in. There are things that they eat, and things that we eat. There are some that love the beach, and others that prefer the pool. And there are varying nap times, bed times, and naturally melt down times.

But once you start anticipating ... yep, there's the burp. You realize, a quite full household, is a very happy household (at least for a week.)

That celebrating several dads on Father's Day is more fun that celebrating one.

That three chefs in the kitchen can cover more territory than going solo.  And ideally, those three chefs can find replacements for kitchen clean up.

That despite our last name, without Peter we'd probably never land a fish.

That a better set of eyes sheds the right kind of light on the photo. (Follow @four_one_two on Instagram for the more impressive beach photography.)

That there tends to be a willing and better yet free babysitter or two around when you need a little help.

That group participation is generally higher when peer pressure is involved.

That running after a baby all day can be just as good of a workout as kick boarding.

That bedtime is easier when you have the oldest cousin doing the hard work.

That happy hour is happier with a baby in one arm and whoever was drinking that Corona Light next to my Mom.

That two years difference in your best girlfriend is nothing when you speak the common language of how to play with bare Barbies. And bare Ken.

That finding a partner to fend off jellyfish ...

and bury in goop sand makes the waves epic.

But that knowing Bobby is a middle child too, finding some alone time can be powerful. 

That having a sister to take a photo of your family actually gets you a decent one, or as good as our family gets.

And that despite my branches' distance, despite the time and events that have passed, folding into the full unit again, under one roof, can help reinforce how close we all are. How much we have in common. And the strength of a support network that I know we need to lean on a little more sometimes.

Thank you, Nana and Opa  ...

For giving us a week in the surf, sand and setting sun.

Your big family is so blessed to have you. 

Lo.    

The Chase

When I was in Kindergarten, my favorite thing to do at Recess was play Boys Chase Girls. The name accurately describes the activity. The girls would run around screaming while the boys, led by Noah M. and Christian H. would capture the girls, round us up, and then deliberate on what to do next.
'What do we now? What do we now?'
'Umm ... Let's let em go!'
And around and around the game went.

The other options I faced on the pre-renovation playground at St. Edmund's Academy were bleak: monkey bars (couldn't suspend my own weight plus Sarah B. fell and broke her arm on them) or a sandbox (always wore a dress to school / didn't want sand in my hair.) So Boys Chase Girls wasn't just the only thing I could do, it became the only thing I wanted to do. I loved the thrill of the chase.

My enthusiasm for and excellence in playing the game came in handy later in life, particularly in MBA school as Peter chased me from South Bend, to Naperville, eventually catching me at the end of the aisle.

But things have changed in Kindergarten today. At least at Mary's school they have. Her favorite thing to do at recess is chase the boys. That's right, she does the chasing while the boys do the running and screaming. 
'You chase the boys. Mary?'
'Yep. And I'm getting really fast. I can catch just about all of them now.' 

The game has apparently evolved, and I've been thinking, thank heavens.

See the way I played it, which I'm guessing is the way most played, I got used to being caught, captured, and put in my place. I actually got joy out of it. But when it comes to applying lessons learned on the playground to adult life, I have found myself dissatisfied being put in my place over the years. Especially when it's done by the men around me who were clearly chasers growing up.

Work isn't a game. At least it's not supposed to be. But I see so many people playing it that way. And sometimes I doubt my ability to keep up with them.

I've been in Corporate America, at the same company, for ten years now. (Ten!) I spent five years working for the Charity and another five years in Menu. I've been promoted two times, and generally speaking I feel good about my accomplishments. But if I compare, I've seen some men climb twice as fast. I've seen resumes where people are between two and three companies in the same period of time. I've seen employees come and go for more money elsewhere. And I remain patient. 

Or is it something else? In the past ten years, I've also had three children, three maternity leaves, three stops and starts to work which has likely inhibited the velocity of my career. So does that mean that working moms can't be chasers? Or are we just easy targets for the antagonists cause the weight of kids slows us down? 

I don't have the answer, but the good thing about the game I played, is that the girls were always let go. Free to choose what to do next. And Mary has taught me that I don't need to keep being chased, that I can turn around now and do the chasing. Which I feel like I need to try. 

While I admittedly am raising a girly girl - who loves to shop, get manicures, put on Fashion shows, play Barbies, dance and sing and dance some more, I'm sensing that she already knows how to keep up with the boys while maintaining her femininity. And just as I will keep pushing myself to do the same, I will keep making sure she knows her full potential.

Because if all you really need to know was taught in Kindergarten, one of the most important things Mary has learned this year is that she can be as fast, as strong, and as smart as the boys in the class. She can and will catch them all.

Lo.

Growing Up

It's the last week of school for my kids. To be precise, yesterday was Bobby's last day, but I didn't even realize it. No picture. No reflection. Just an unceremonious drop off and pick up. Whoops. Mary's last day is tomorrow, so here's hoping I remember in the morning.

The school doesn't have graduations or moving up ceremonies for their early education students, which as a forgetful mom doesn't help me anticipate or celebrate a special day. As an over emoting Mom though, I'm good with it. I function better when life doesn't afford me the time or focus to get sentimental about my kids growing up. Instead, I'm left to my own devices to reflect which means I can ugly cry in the privacy of my own home.

School has been wonderful to them.

Just. Wonderful.

Mary is reading, writing beautifully, doing math, and spreading her sweet nature around her classroom. She told me her favorite subject was Science. Also Gym. At dinner, she loves leading our prayer with one from school and then serenading us throughout the meal with Mrs. Ricks' portfolio of concert tunes. She is always bringing home a new piece of artwork, telling me about the life of a lesser known Saint, correcting my hypotheses with scientific facts, or relaying what her crush told her while blushing. She is becoming a cooperative, collaborative worker, and I'm proud of her for that.

Bobby also excelled this year. In honesty, I worried about the behavior he would display going in, but apparently all the discipline at home translated to all-star status in the classroom. He graduated Pre-K 3 with early literacy and math skills. He walks in every day with a fan base whispering to their moms, 'there's Bobby!' I can tell that he is a natural leader and aims to bring others along with him. He rushed into his classroom on the first day, and left it behind this year glowing with positive experiences.

One of the things I love most about their school though, is the network of friends they have made. The school is filled with great kids who have great parents and I know some of the friendships they are forming will be lifelong.

The same week that they graduated, I celebrated my own graduation. Or rather, being fifteen years removed from it. I went back to Notre Dame with seven of my lacrosse teammates last weekend to walk around campus, drink at the Backer, get on the field (or rather court) again, and reminisce about our glory days.

I met these girls at Notre Dame's Lacrosse Camp the summer before our Freshman year. They were from all over the country with all different pathways leading them to the University. We were fast friends - inseparable from the start. We bonded over our general awkwardness. Over Abby's inability to stay awake during team meetings and Meredith's uncanny ability to get yelled at by T. Coyne. Over Kegs and Eggs and mandatory tailgates. We bonded over bike rides, because why wouldn't you bike to and from practice? We suffered the wrath of our coaches, the drama of the upperclassmen, the strain of balancing academics and athletics, sprains, tears, broken bones, and many bruises together. We lifted weights and raised glasses together. We fell down and got up back up. We won and lost. And we will be friends for life because of it.

Fifteen years after graduating, I felt like nothing had changed about our friendships - that our bond was stronger than ever. The conversation changed a bit, but the laughter that followed, just the same.

Tennis anyone? Sure!
Lacrosse? No.
Botox? Largely a no.
Who would get it though? Kinnik.
Abby's a vegan? Yes.
What? Yes.
Didn't she just eat the bacon bits off her salad? No. Never.
Kristen, want to play flip cup? No.
Kristen, want to dance? Yes.
Ask for a raise? Yes.
Quit? Maybe.
Go back to work? Eventually.
Any more kids? No.
Any more kids? Okay, maybe.
Maven or Broker? I'm the Maven. Mere's the broker.
Resistor? Bridget.
Legalize Marijuana? Dare Bear winners - no. All the others - yes.
Where's Mia? Crying.
Why? She misses us being together.

It's that last line where this all fits together. Mia was crying, which ultimately made me get teary eyed on the drive home.

There is sorrow in graduations and in all those moments when you have to say goodbye after working so hard to get together again. And Moms seem to feel this more than others. I have seen and read it in many mom testimonials this week. 'Last day of school, I'm not crying, you're crying ...' and the like. It's painful because you know that with age, comes separation and uncertainty that the bond you created with your kids (or friends) will stay as strong as it was.

So what I do? When Mary asks for me to wrap her in a towel and carry her like a baby after her bath, I do. When Bobby runs out of his bed at night and into mine, I welcome him, at least for a little bit. When Margaret wants to be lift her up again and again and again, I oblige. Because the more they know my arms are open, the more I believe they will always come back to them.

 

And anymore, when my friends suggest a reunion trip, I'm there.

Lo.