ChiKat

We survived the three-hour trip to Miami AND the five and a half hour flight to La Paz. Oddly, my biggest challenge on the flight was my son sleeping soundly.

On the flight to Miami, my son was VERY awake. Not screaming or fussing. Just wide awake and happy. He was delighted with his airplane experience and occasionally made an EAR PIERCING shriek of joy that rattled the entire aircraft.

He slept the entire flight from Miami to La Paz. That portion was a red eye, so I was exhausted and needed to sleep also. However, we kept changing altitude or cabin pressure or something. Whatever was happening meant that the pressure kept changing and my ears kept popping. To prevent my son from having a problem with his ears, all I needed to do was keep his binky in (with a binky, babies keep swallowing, so they continually relieve the pressure in their ears). My son chose that moment to decide, for the first time in his entire life, that he didn't want to sleep with a binky and he kept spitting it out.

I would slowly drift off to sleep, only to hear a quiet "plink, plick" as the binky was spit out of his mouth and rolled down the plane. I'd dive under the seats, fish out the binky, wash it off with a diaper wipe, and then try to force it back into my son's mouth. My son, without waking up at all, would clench his jaw and refuse to accept the binky.

I contemplated just letting him sleep, but my ears hurt enough as it was – I knew it would be disaster if I let my son's ears get all clogged with pressure and not be able to fix the problem. So I'd pry open his mouth, shove the binky back in and he'd finally accept it.

Five minutes later, I would hear, "plink, plink, plink" as the binky fell out again.

Repeat 500 times. I am exhausted. But we have arrived and my brother was waiting for us at the airport with flowers for a greeting. It is delightful to see him. If I could just sleep for about 60 hours, I will be in mint condition!

25 containers of baby food
2 packages of wasa crackers
1 loaf of rye bread
1 jar of peanut butter
2 bags of goldfish crackers
500 animal crackers
Raisins
56 diapers
276 wipes
Toys
Clothes
A very, very heavy suitcase

We are ready for our South American adventure! 10 days, 2 countries, 1 little boy.

Off we go…

We drove past the dream house – it is in much better condition that we thought. It has an eviction notice on the door, which makes us suspect that the bank owns the property and wants to get rid of it, which explains the low price. I'm sure it still needs work, but it needs much less work than we were expecting.

It is two houses from the Eisenhower…which means that the traffic noise is INSANELY loud. There is a constant roar.

I grew up a block from I-55, so the noise didn't faze me, but within five minutes my husband was twitchy. I really think, despite being a city boy his entire life, my husband really belongs in the country with no neighbors for 100 miles. I'm sure he would take that as a compliment.

I know this makes me sounds like a total patsy, but the eviction notice made me sad. I felt that by thinking about buying the home (for such a great price!), I was taking advantage of someone else's misfortune.

All in all, the dream house wasn't totally perfect, but we are going to see if we can set up an appointment to view the place. I still don't think it will be available by the time we sell our place, but it has been on the market for awhile, so maybe there really is a chance that we can own this home.

90% of me is convinced it's not going to work out because selling our condo will take awhile. 5% of me is convinced that my husband will go insane from the traffic noise so the dream house really isn't a good fit for us. The final 5% thinks we will LIVE THERE FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES. No pressure or anything.

Remember when I said there was a house in Oak Park that I loved? This is what it looks like:


It's not perfect. It needs work. And by the time we sell our condo, I doubt it will still be on the market (in my neighborhood, condos rarely sell in fewer than six months).

But still, when I'm having a bad day, I open up the real estate listings, check out that picture, and I'm filled with hope. I love the lines of the house, the symmetry. I love the potential.

The rooms are a terrible size, I've never been inside the home, it needs a ton of work. Did I mention how much work it needed?

But still, I have an irrational love for that house.

I am a terrible dog owner. My vet wants my dog to weigh 85 pounds. Every year, rather than lose any weight, the dog gains five pounds. He is up to 110 pounds. He weighs more than my MOTHER. I am horrified by this.

Since having my son and my husband taking the CTA instead of walking to work, the dog doesn't get the two walks a day we used to be so good about. But he still gets once good, long walk each day. It's not making a difference. He also eats decent dog food, and gets very few table scraps.

In other words, we aren't treating him terribly. But labs are prone to being chunky anyway, and we're not helping matters.

I have to improve things soon, otherwise people are going to start mistaking him for a horse.