I'm so excited! I'm so scared!

You know, nothing is official until it is on Facebook.

So, it is Facebook official.  We're moving.

Seven years in Chicago (minus an 11 month stint in DC)....it still hasn't sunk in.

Our relationship was built here.  We had only been dating 11 months and embarked on a crazy adventure, an adventure that was supposed to be temporary.  An 18 month project and we would get to move back home.

Not so much. 

But it was ok...we grew up and grew together here.  We came here young, we started running. We partied like the post grads we were and we went to many happy hours.  Our jobs got more serious and so did we.  We got married, bought a condo, got pregnant and had a baby, all while calling Chicago "home".

Chicago has defined our relationship and while I am so excited to get back to our family and friends, I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't a tiny bit nervous that this move, this new town, this new lifestyle didn't scare me a little.

Our life isn't about just the two of us now though.  It is about the three of us, the smallest iteration of "us" being the most important. 

So, we trade our condo with the luxury finishes for a 3 bedroom "old lady" house.

We trade our bustling downtown and eclectic neighborhood for quaint suburbia.

We trade late night fights and sirens on Clark Street for a quiet street that - oh my! - is dark at night!

I trade a high paying corporate job for the all together different lifestyle of a stay-at-home mom.

But, we also trade the island of separation for a new closeness (literally - proximity) to family. 

We know this is the right decision.  We know we will be happy.  We know that leaving Chicago doesn't change us.

Chicago is still a home because it created "us" - all of us.  And while I never could call it "home" while we lived here, I'm happy (and sad...) to call it home now because I never realized, until the past few weeks, how one city could be so important to all the things that mean everything to me.

Now I'm coming home again...
         ...maybe we can start again.

Top Secret

.....but as soon as I can talk about, I will.

I'm going to have a LOT to say.

But right now...ssssh.







And no, I am NOT pregnant.

A hobby.

I really like my camera.  And I really like taking pictures.

But, I really don't know how to work my camera.  And, I don't claim to have any talent whatsoever.

But like writing, it is about perspective...a good angle.  A good photo is like a good sentence; not painstakingly thought out but spontaneous with not too much editing.

I took some photos of a good friend and her new baby girl, as a learning experience.  I still have nary a clue about my camera but I think, in my humble amateur opinion, they aren't half bad. 

So, are there rules on hobbies? Am I obligated to get better?  I run as a hobby but I'm not good at that either.  I guess that is the nice thing about hobbies though - no pressure.

I like that.

Cause down the shore, everything's all right.

I left my brain in Ocean City.

This month has...sucked.

Nothing bad happened.  But, nothing good either.

I need something good to happen.  Something fresh and exciting.

In the meantime, my brain is on the beach and my butt is in this chair and I am not too thrilled about.

Keep on keeping on.

Bully.

My baby is a bully.

Ok, so maybe he is a baby and just doesn't know any better.

So far his misdemeanors include:
- grabbing a little girl by the neck, tossing her to the ground and stealing her bottle;

- numerous counts of biting, hitting and hair pulling; and

- yelling in the face of a little boy who was already crying, resulting in the little boy crying harder and Buddy shouting back louder.

For a little person who seems to have no use for "real" words or learning where his goddamn nose is, he is an aggressive little fellow. Not to mention, he is harder to keep clean than a white suede sofa.

So, I have the dirty, little bully. Awesome.

Hard to believe it's this kid, huh?

reminisce, talk some shit, forever young is in your mind

leave a mark that can't erase neither space nor time

Email Hall of Fame

From: Leigh
To: stefanie
Sent: Tuesday, March 3, 2009 1:41:59 PM
Subject: RE: you are a phantom

i cant believe you are going to a yankees game. is he gonna make you like baseball? or even worse, omg, is he gonna make you a yankees fan? for the love of god, please say no.


Date: Tue, 3 Mar 2009 10:54:54 -0800
From: stefanie
Subject: Re: you are a phantom
To: leigh


He's going to make me like baseball but it won't be easy but NO, I made it very clear that as a child, when I actually really liked baseball I was a Mets fan so there's no f'ing way I would just cross over.


From: Leigh
Sent: Tue 3/03/09 3:16 PM
To: stefanie


ok...we'd really have a challenge. the yankees are the anti-christ and i don't even believe in that.

Waiting. And not on tables.

This summer has been defined by waiting.

Waiting for news.

Waiting for opportunities.

I'm always an advocate of being an active participant in creating your destiny, but what do you do when everything you can do has been done and the outcome is out of your hands?

You wait.

I don't like feeling as though I am not living in this moment. I feel like I am missing so much RIGHT NOW because we are consumed with thinking about the future.

But, we still we wait. And time keeps ticking and life keeps happening. It seems like days drag now but when we look back, it will seem like moved so fast. We will realize that we missed little things happening and didn't appreciate other tiny moments.

So, until the other shoe drops, we pass time. And try our best to appreciate the moment we are in rather than focus too much on an undetermined future.

Easier said than done, isn't it?

I haz smart.

There's nothing more condescending than have someone look at you, like he had a grand realization about all the unfounded assumptions he's made about your intelligence, and say "Oh, so you're....smart."

(...that's a true story.)

At a previous firm, where title was everything and entitlement ran rampant, it was widely assumed that I was just your average, unmotivated, married 20-something who needed an income. Obviously, the opportunity to mention that I never exactly aspired to be a "Senior Administrative Assistant" didn't come up often. Nor was it appropriate, given I personally have no problem with anyone who does aspire to that rank. But really - I didn't go to college to do expense reports, ifyouknowwhatI'msaying.

My career path has been a twisty, nebulous string of growing responsibility and little clear direction. A lot of shades of gray and an equal amount of praise for being flexible. Versatile. Smart. While personally frustrating, I know that my bosses value me and respect me so I am luckier than most professionals in that regard.

Unfortunately, while it is clear that I am "more than an admin", I am still not entirely sure what kind of job is right for me. I mean, I know I'm smart. Right now, my title is "Analyst" though, truth be told, my analytical skills leave something to be desired. My peers have degrees in all things number-y and a far cry from journalism.

My skills and strengths don't fit my role, at least, not at this point in time. In this industry, project management and roles that are heavy in communication and presentation are the benefits of working your ass off for the better part of your post-graduate years. Those roles are not for the admin-turned-analyst-now-working-mom-who-hasn't-put-in-her time-like-we-all-did, no matter if those skills are her strong suit and ultimately, the type of work she should be doing. And you know, she's smart too.

I truly didn't ever think that I would be eight years out of college and still not have a clear vision about a career. Except...well...I feel like I should be able to figure this out.

You know.

Cause I'm smart.

Email Hall of Fame

From: Leigh A.
Sent: Friday, June 23, 2006 10:03 AM
To: Everyone
Subject: Missing

If someone borrowed the Aveeno lotion that was on my desk, please return it when you are satisfactorily moisturized.



Thanks much!

Leigh

Words and Music by Robbie Hart

I've never been one for conflict.

Usually, when I get upset or angry, I spout off at the mouth. Mostly shouting - anyone who knows me well knows that I am loud to begin with - and the confrontation will usually result in tears, either right then or behind closed doors.

During these confrontations, words are all over my brain, struggling to come out in a cohesive thought because the emotions are turning them all around. Like a weird confrontational verbal dyslexia. Over the years, I've realized that I have to walk away from the conversation and collect my thoughts because I don't want to have my points and arguments be lost in my red-faced wild gestures.

By writing down my thoughts and emotions, I have the opportunity to craft each and every thought because they never, ever, come out that perfectly in the heat of the moment. In my head, I have so many perfect fights, conversations, witty comebacks. Hell, I'm wittier on GChat than I am in real life and that IS real time. Something about seeing the words on a screen. A well placed "fuck" in writing packs so much more punch than in the middle of a knockdown, drag out fight.

I think my savior is paper. Or, just a word processing program. The place where I can get everything down, in order. I need a repository for the bits of wild streaming statements, questions and exclamations that fly through my brain like ticker tape. The thought that immediately follows these brief moments of clarity is "Wow. I should write that down."

So, now I am going to write them down. As many as I can, as often as I can. I could spout mumbo jumbo about writing being my therapy. Maybe it will be. Maybe I'll end up writing something meaningful. Maybe I'll be the only one to ever read it. Maybe one day I'll actually re-read what I have written and it will help me through a tough situation. Or just remind me I've been there, done that.

Even though some of these thoughts should be shared with the people who have inspired (or rather, provoked) them, at least I'll have some peace in getting my feelings down in writing. I don't know if the act of documenting these thoughts will legitimize them or make me sounds like a madwoman. I'm not sure it matters.

My husband runs to clear his head. I think I'll clear mine out by writing down years of internal dialogue that has been collecting in every corner of my brain.

Hopefully, it will make room for a revelation.

I need one of those.

Preg-nesia.

I did not enjoy being pregnant.

This was common knowledge. I shared it with pretty much everyone that inquired about my sperminated state.

All the food rules. No booze. Giving up my body to a being that I have never met.

Flashforward to six months into the being's current life and....funny....I miss being pregnant?

No. That can't be it.

I know in my rational mind and from my own memories and opinions - I did NOT like being pregnant.

Maybe its not that I miss being pregnant. Maybe its an appreciation of the process that created this cool little flirty dude that lives with us now. Maybe its a hokey notion and acknowledgment of the completely unequaled experience of his birth.

Whatever it is....I've got the fever.

Pregnancy fever.

And I don't think Tylenol helps.



sometimes you see him walk up in the club, he's a flirt

Email Hall of Fame

Here's a little gem from the olden days...

From: Stefanie Sent: Wed 10/18/2006 3:14 PM To: Leigh Subject: RE: True Life - I'm from staten island I like to imagine you working in this huge white room with a white desk, white chair and a white imac laptop. I imagine that your chair is backless and is shaped like a butt and when you go to work you wear your hair bob style but flipped up. I also imagine that you have a framed pictured of the cast of Everybody Loves Raymond on your desk.

My New Blog Idea

I'm going to start a blog of all the amazing bathrooms in Chicago's restaurants and bar. And the not so amazing ones. I have been in some pretty fantastic restrooms lately and someone needs to pay tribute them.

I'm so serious about this. Sort of.

Birthday. Retirement.

Today is my birthday. And since I have all but completely retired my MySpace blog, I gave myself my old blog for my birthday. My generosity to me is overwhelming.

I may also give myself an iPod Touch. Who says Americans aren't spending? This somewhat fiscally irresponsible American is...

Is it worth it...

...to repurchase my movie collection in DVD form? Or will these be obsolete soon too?

All I know is that Molly Ringwald looks like shit in VHS.