Things Learned (And Relearned) From A Week Of Apartment Hunting

This was my home screen for the last week.

1. PadMapper is the shizzle. 
I scoured a ton of apartment finding websites this last week. None compared to PadMapper, which takes listings from Craigslist and its own apartment postings and puts those places on a clickable map. So great.

2. "Cozy" is a common descriptor in apartment listings.
And it means "this garden apartment has no windows and your 6 foot husband will hit his head on every door frame."

3. You can learn a lot about a place through the features most prominent in its ad.
When the Craigslist title says "HOT WATER INCLUDED FOR FREE!!!!" you know said apartment has very little going for it.

4. Your housekeeping skills really aren't that bad. Really.
I cringe at some of the places we saw, because if this is what it looks like when you know someone is coming to see it, then how bad is it the rest of the time?

5. "Vintage" is likely to be more shabby than chic.
Take it from someone who has lived in a (well-loved but quirky) vintage apartment for several years.

6. If it looks too good to be true, it usually is.
Not always (our current place really is an amazing deal). But usually, yes. In one week I've seen crazy slanted floors, possible big mold issues, and a building in foreclosure.

7. Scammers be a'scammin (and they're not particularly good at it).
Yes, I figured the two bedroom for $500 in Wrigleyville was a scam, but it didn't hurt to email, right? "Joe Balls" wrote me back a very long, sweet-yet-frequently-mispelled story about how he was leaving the country and just wants someone to care for his perfect place that includes every luxury perk imaginable for the time being. And unfortunately, you can't see the unit but would you like to rent it any way?

What do you think? Should I write Mr. Balls a check?

8. God can show Himself to you through a totally unwanted move.
I can't resist moralizing a bit here because God has been so, so unbelievably good to us through the craziness of this last week. I've seen Him in the tears shed as I mourned our tiny home by the tracks, in the wisdom of my family members as they counciled us, in the timing of this move that is turning out to be far more perfect then I could have imagined. And I know I will see more of His work in our lives in the little place just a mile from here, which we signed a lease on last night. I want to share His goodness with anyone who will listen right now.

We're getting a yard. Just in time for spring.

Mourning My Home

Two days ago Judah and I planted herbs in tiny pots. Chives, parsley, and oregano, neatly arranged, seeds pushed carefully into damp soil by still-chubby-almost-preschooler hands. I put them on the bookshelf, ready to catch growing sunlight from our big living room windows.

Today I bought a new set of measuring cups; colorful ones on sale at Target. These will go well with the bright colors in my kitchen, I thought.

And this afternoon, the new owners of our building knocked on our door, gave me some papers to sign, and told me that all the tenants have to be out of their apartments in six weeks.

Almost three years ago, when I first saw this place (toting my three month old son along in his carrier), I knew it was the one. I looked past the fact that it was spitting distance from the Metra tracks and had no counters and absolutely reeked of cigarette smoke and signed the lease that night.

And it has been a beautiful three years. All five hundred and eleven square feet of this little apartment hold memories dear to my heart.

A little boy that learned to crawl, talk, walk, run, count, sing...

A tiny girl, brought home to her three-by-five-foot closet with a mini-crib and triangle bunting and a stuffed owl.

So many nights cuddled on the couch next to my husband, watching a show while he rubs my feet.

So many mornings spent curled up in the east-facing sunshine spots, reading while little ones sleep.

This place is far from palatial. I've sighed at how small it can feel with an energetic toddler in it, and cursed creaky floorboards and leaky faucets. But my love for its 10-foot ceilings and shaded back porch and claw foot tub and big, big windows always trumped those little annoyances.

It feels silly to shed tears over a home that wasn't really ours, that was always somewhat temporary--but I have shed tears this afternoon.

Here I go again, schlepping a little baby in a carrier (and a toddler by my side) to apartment showings across the city, hoping against hope for a deal we can afford in a neighborhood we love. Because in Chicago, it is all about the neighborhood. It is our home; our community.

I don't want this trust exercise, but it is forced on me--the chance to once again let God show us where our memories will be made. At least I know who they will be with, and I'll keep trying to convince myself that's all that matters.

Our love nest, nearly three years ago!

 

That Which We Take For Granted

I sit in the sunshine streaming through the front window, awed by quiet at 10:45 in the morning. Constant toddler questions have been replaced by white noise in two bedrooms. I can see my sick son in his bed, sleeping off his pain. The fever, the nausea, the extra laundry--I can handle all of that. It is the lethargy that breaks my heart. My bright boy is listless and sad, uninterested in all the things that usually hold his attention.

We take health so much for granted. On a normal weekday morning, I might find myself wishing for a break like this, some kind of respite from the boundless energy. And here I have it, my moment in the sun with a cool cup of water, and I just want my boy back. Day four of sickness, and I miss his sweet, silly, demanding self.

I persistently want what I don't have. I forget to give thanks for my many gifts when they are ever-present. I roll my eyes at the idea that I will desperately miss the intensity of the toddler years.

But then my little one disappears into his sickness for just a few days, not himself, and I know that each healthy moment is one worth treasuring. I will miss all of this--and him, and her, just as they are right now.

Spring Is Coming

Colors danced for me as I sped down Lakeshore Drive this morning:

Teenagers tossed a ball at the park, their red and white baseball uniforms contrasted against brown trees.

White boats on wheels next to Belmont Harbor, their cold blue tarps overshadowed by a brilliant azure lake.

Piles of dingy snow at the edge of parking lots, slowly and steadily meeting their demise in black puddles.

The sun shone, bolstering my mood as I noticed the first signs of a Chicago spring. The joggers in neon shorts and women in sunglasses and children sitting happily in strollers were all a part of my community, rejoicing with me that winter is--maybe, hopefully--almost banished for this year.

With the joy that warmth, sun, and cloudless skies bring me, I sometimes wonder why God allows such a large swath of His precious planet to be so frequently covered in clouds, snow, and frigid temperatures. Much of the world is often inhospitable to life, and despite the temperature moderation of modern technology, there are always some for whom winter brings discomfort--or even death. Those I know who love the cool breezes and fluffy snow of winter do so with the benefit of respite from these things, should they choose it.

But then spring comes, and with it so much newness and life that I cannot resist basking in it. Especially this week, I see that the stark beauty of winter is in the wait. We learn to trust that this is just a season; spring will come again. We must keep the faith, and then greet the warmth with renewed appreciation. I think of the disciples, looking at a risen Jesus. They must have marveled - "Just three days ago we slept, we SLEPT! when we could have been worshiping alongside our Lord. May we never take His presence for granted again."

They probably did though, and so do we, like a beautiful day in June. For that reason, we need winters--in our world and in our souls, to combat apathy. There is nothing like cold to make us appreciate a spreading warmth.

So, Chicagoans: get outside. Happy Easter!

New Mommy Sanity Savers

There are a few essential tools necessary to surviving the arrival of a sweet new baby into a family. There's the obvious things like good community (I've felt very loved on by family and friends), nutritious food (like pizza and cookie dough ice cream, of course), and entertainment for the toddler (I've found that a kitchen sink full of soapy water can distract for quite a while). However, I'm talking about the really important stuff here. Things like...

Headbands.

It has been six days since I washed my hair. For real. Now, that actually sounds nastier than it is because I have really dry hair and my usual shampooing frequency is about twice a week. But I am pushing it at the moment, and thus: headbands. So chic. So fast. So good at disguising grease/yogurt/curdled milk. Because ain't nobody got time for that hair-fixing stuff.

Mini Vacations.

When it came to vacations, I used to think of the Caribbean, or camping in the Rockies, or at least the Wisconsin Dells. No longer. Now I can derive equal pleasure from a shower longer than three minutes. If the hairs get washed and the razor gets used, I'm so pleased that you'd think I was sitting in Cabo with a mojito. And last night, I got an hour alone at the gym. Seriously. Who knew bringing the pain to your flabby postpartum body could feel so good? Every few days, I need one of these mini-vacations, and I'm glad that my husband is happy to comply. In a pinch, even picking up a couple things at the grocery store and going to the bank can count as long as one is alone.

A Good TV Show.

Whether I'm nursing or just relaxing at the end of a long day, this is vital to my well-being. I just finished season one of Call The Midwife, and we are always enjoying Modern Family, The Amazing Race, and The Walking Dead. My (dreadful) realization upon seeing that last one after having Violet? "Jason, newborns are just like zombies. They constantly make random grunting noises and endlessly crave flesh...errr, milk." Unfortunately, there's some thoughts you just can't unthink.

A To-Do List App.

I cannot remember a darn thing anymore. If I have to be somewhere at a certain time, I'd better write it down. If I have to call someone, write it down. If we are running low on something rather important (toilet paper, toothpaste, milk chocolate), write it down. Fold laundry. Feed toddler. Change the occasional diaper. Sometimes the basics don't get done unless they're on The List. Since my phone is always nearby, I've learned to add things to my list immediately lest they be ignored. This permanent brain fart thing has been going on since at least mid-pregnancy, and if the older women in my life are correct will continue for approximately the next eighteenish years. Yay.

A Favorite Drink.

Mike's Hard Lemonade. Because momma sometimes needs a little help relaxing. And because I only like wimpy fruity sugar-laced alcohol. And because I'm making up for lost time (I'm talking about YOU, pregnancy).

What are/were/will be your postpartum lifesavers?

Four And A Half Weeks Postpartum

Several weeks ago, I smiled at the other mom as we watched our toddler sons interact at the book store.

"How old is your baby?" I asked, pointing to the little one sleeping in a car seat.

"Four and a half weeks. How old is your daughter?"

"Two and a half weeks," I said, staring lovingly at Violet while she nursed. I felt bad for the other mom  because she looked drained and exhausted. There were lines around her eyes, her hair was tied back, and she just looked so tired. Poor lady. I thought. Her baby is even older then mine and I don't feel near as tired as she looks. I went so far as to wonder, smugly, if I was just maybe extra gifted at this brand-new two kids thing.

Fast forward two weeks...

I drag myself out of bed, change a soaked diaper, get breakfast for a toddler, nurse the baby, put the toddler on the potty, and then somehow catch a glance in the mirror while putting Violet down for nap. The person that stares back at me has bedraggled hair, unwashed for almost a week. Her shirt is covered with leaky milk spots and curdled spit up. Her eyes are bloodshot and slightly baggy. At four and a half weeks postpartum, she looks drained and exhausted.

I'd forgotten an important fact about the newborn period: sleep deprivation is cumulative. And a month of it will definitely give you an aura of weariness.

Life is good. It really, really is. Sighs of "oh-she's-up-so-soon!" are intermixed with Jason and I staring at our babies dreamily, asking each other why we were blessed with two such healthy, beautiful kids. Miracles. But at four and a half weeks in, I'm letting some things slide. The toddler is seeing a bit more of the TV, my hair is seeing a bit less of the shampoo, and this little blog may not get much action unless I quickly learn to type one-handed. I am drinking up baby cuddles because the last month has come and gone in one blink of my tired eyes.

Babymooning

My little squish is just over two weeks old now, and I am basking in her tiny perfection. I want to soak in her soft cheeks...the way her tiny baby bird tongue pops in and out of her mouth when she's hungry...sleep smiles...the most gut-wrenching of pouts...a milk-soaked chin after nursing. Already I see extra chub filling out her tiny body, and that makes me both proud and a little sad--this stage, it's so short. 

People ask me how I'm doing, and I'm almost afraid to answer for fear of jinxing things. Because honestly, I have trouble imagining a smoother postpartum period. Physically, I've felt great since about two days after birth. Two weeks out, I'm itching to exercise (there is no soreness or pain holding me back, just lack of time!). This is undoubtedly a result of a rather short labor and lightning-fast pushing stage, along with no tearing. I also would like to think that exercising up until the end of my pregnancy helped with my recovery, but who knows? I am sure that it helped with my sanity during those hormonal last few weeks.

Sleep, while not plentiful, hasn't been too bad. Violet loves to sleep cuddled up next to me, and I let her. She sometimes makes it into her bassinet, but most of the night is still spent in our bed. With Judah, we didn't end up (part-time) cosleeping until he was several months old and I couldn't handle the sleep deprivation any more. This time around, we dove right in. Sleep is a high priority to me, and not having to get out of bed to nurse really makes a difference in how I feel. 

I am emotionally stable, and happy most of the time. After having worked with mothers with postpartum mood disorders over the last few years, I have to admit that I am so thankful for this. Postpartum anxiety and depression are always on my radar, but so far I've had nothing more than a few days of baby blues during the first week. I do not take this for granted.

We are blessed, truly blessed. I could, and hopefully will, write a whole other post about how my community has lifted our family up through prayer and service during this time. Friends, you are too good to us. My heart is full.