Raspberry picking at our CSA. Seriously wonderful.

Fair warning, folks: I’m going to get all “Sunrise, Sunset” in this post so if you’re not in the mood, move on.

We’ve been in Northfield for just over a year now. I remember when we were making final plans to choose Northfield over New York City, I warned Dan that I would likely cry every night for the first 3 months. I feared being friendless, lonely, isolated and further from a Trader Joe’s or Vietnamese sandwich shop than any person ought to be. Reader, I haven’t cried once.

Living in Northfield really suits us. For example, Dan’s gigs start at 5pm (as many of you know, we are often asleep by 10pm). But, more importantly, living in Northfield has also encouraged us to change the way we live. The lack of stores selling essentially prepared foods (I’m looking at you, TJ’s) has forced us to learn how to actually cook, which we enjoy immensely. Our large swath of much-less-than-perfect lawn encouraged us to plant a vegetable garden and pumpkin vines which nicely distract the eye from the scourge that is our grass. My fear of being lonely led me to be aggressive (uh, maybe “assertive” is a

CSA Haul or Why We Cook Now

better word) in making friends with other new mothers. Most of our friends in Chicago were our friends and I’ve really enjoyed having my friends. Living so close to the library has sharply reduced the amount of books I buy and having entire reference sections at my disposal has made it much easier to learn how to knit and garden. The astonishing fitness level and slender figures of our friends and neighbors has encouraged me to keep running and eat well.  The ecological conscientiousness of the town has led us (or guilted us, to be entirely honest) into being more responsible about recycling, reusing, etc. Being a nurse at the free clinic has forced me to learn how to take care of adults and discuss condom use or syphilis testing without embarrassment and not have a heart attack when I get a blood pressure of 150/90.

I do miss Chicago. I miss our friends there very much, especially at this time. I miss feeling anonymous and hearing the El. I miss my old job and my wonderful co-workers there. I miss, of all things, the lake. There are 10,000 lakes in Minnesota according to our license plate but none of them are in Northfield. But Northfield is most definitely our home now, lake or not.

Tonight my mother’s group is having a dinner to celebrate almost one year of parenthood. It’s been just under a year since we met at a “Baby and Me” class run through the school district. I remember agonizing over what to wear just before our first meeting and treating it like a first day of (baby) school. The women who I met that day and those who have joined our band over the months have turned into my most valuable resource and one of my greatest joys in Northfield. I am so excited to watch as our kids grow up together and to see whether or not Eleanor will eventially poke somebody’s eye out.

Ellie looks west towards her new home. And she's 8 feet tall.

So here we are. We arrived on Thursday evening, closed on the house Friday morning and our truck came Saturday. Ellie was a complete pain the last couple of days in Chicago and we briefly considered leaving her at a rest stop in Wisconsin. Belly sensed an opening for re-taking #1 and has been completely charming during the chaos; so charming, in fact, she only threw up once in the car ride up here. Eleanor clearly sensed the canine’s challenge and straightened up big time. She has happily played in her bouncer while we clean or sleeps soundly in her Baby Bjorn while Dan and I unpack. She also slept through the first half of the closing at the lawyer’s office and then loudly pooped through the second which totally won over everyone’s heart if not their noses. Our true love these days, though, is Ryan B. who came from Ottawa to help us move. It’s hard to imagine doing all of this without him.

The house is lovely if a little scruffy. The very fetching window box on the front of the house had completely rotted out. When we pulled up to the house, we saw it had fallen halfway to the ground which was pretty heartbreaking and nervous-making about what other surprises were in store. Additionally, the “garden” is full of thistles and saplings and varieties of plants that strike me as 100% weed. The dandelion lawn had not been mowed once this year. The cure? Neighbors. Our already beloved across-the-street neighbors have mowed the lawn and have plans to remove some stumps for us. We also took off the window box and things look much better. Dan and Ryan have also been busy at work digging up the garden so we can hopefully get some perennials in soon.

The inside of the house was much better off and shines after a manic Emily cleaning. However, every wall dent, chipped paint or imperfect baseboard takes on new meaning now that every problem is our problem. I try to keep the hyperventilation down to a minimum and figure we’ll do just fine.

But overall, we’re thrilled. The neighborhood is exactly what he had hoped for: quiet, steps away from downtown, neighborly. The past three evenings, we’ve walked downtown for ice cream and marveled at the ducks in the river, the tree-lined streets and friendly people. So friendly that a 80-something gentleman in the Econofoods yesterday asked me to let him know if he could do anything for me (I was carrying Ellie) including changing the baby’s diaper. I declined but expressed great appreciation.

Right now Ellie is sleeping upstairs, Dan and Ryan are outside digging up weed roots from the garden and I am sitting in an unpacked and sunny kitchen. I’m happy and looking forward to it all.

Now, this guy wasn’t counting on the owner of the signs standing at his window watching the whole thing go down. I flew out the front door in my boxers, a swaddled Ellie in arms, to confront the guy. “Did you just rip our sign down? Why would you do that? We’re moving in the morning? Why did you do that?” He completely ignored me, although he did say, “You don’t know what you’re talking about” as he turned the corner to head south on Wolcott. I ran inside, through the apartment, to our back door which opens out on the Wolcott (still will Ellie in my arms) and continued with my penetrating questions, “Won’t you answer me? Why did you do that? That’s a really crappy thing to do. I’ll call the cops if it’s still there in the morning,” to which he replied, “Go ahead, call the cops. Call them now.”

At this point, Emily was up and wired so we retrieved the sign, put on clothes (in that order) and went to the bar, still with Ellie in my arms, to continue the, um, conversation. There was no one in the bar (there never is) other than the bartender, so it was just the four of us. In short, he acknowledged ripping down the sign. He said that we have no right to take up the “entire block” because we’re moving. Exaggeration did nothing for him here. We’re literally taking up the space of a large moving truck — about four spots — and surely if we don’t have the right to do that, we do have the right to put up “No Parking” signs by way of courteously informing our neighbors that we’re moving and, gee, it would be swell if you could cut us some slack. As Em said to him, rather effectively, “We would do the same for you,” after I had said, “We’re your neighbors.”
But here’s the thing: we do have the right to reserve those parking spots. The posters were issued by the city and they do not say, “As a courtesy to your neighbors, please do not park here as they are moving.” They say “No Parking — Moving (date/time).” We hammered that point home too. The result: “I’ll move my car. Don’t make such a big deal of it.” We more or less left it at that, although Emily made a point of telling him that it was a big deal and that he had behaved terribly. He moved his car about 20 minutes later (we were standing in the living room), but maybe only because he got the sense that if he didn’t, my last act at 1851 W. Cuyler would have been to drag a key across his door. Asshole (sorry Hanna, there’s just no other word for it).

We’ll have some pictures of the move soon enough.

3 parties (one in our honor)

1 baby-free meal at North Pond thanks to Meghan F.

2 3 trips to Nhu Lan

2 3 trips to Margie’s Candies

1 trip to Budackis Hot Dogs

2 lunches with dissertation advisers

1 pizza in our courtyard with friends

6 trips to Starbucks to use up the four year’s worth of Starbucks gift cards Em accrued at work

1 trip to Children’s Memorial to say goodbye to co-workers

On Wednesday night, Dena and Lisa put together a going away party for us in their backyard. Hot dogs, speeches (!), grumpy babies (three of them), and, as with any event that involves LBA, fantastic pictures.

Dena and Lisa made signs, which people combined to hilarious, touching, and sometimes crude effect (all the pictures are in our latest picasa album):

(She doesn't really mean it)

Emily put it best: everyone there was someone we would be so happy spending a day, or entire weekend with (so come visit Northfield people!). Sadly, she didn’t put it that way at the party when, after the speeches, we wanted to say something. I was, believe it or not, speechless and so said, “Em — do you want to say something?” This caused everyone to turn to look at Em at exactly the moment she had her boob in her hand en route to Ellie’s mouth. Better than any speech.

And, completely unrelated to anything in the post, here are some more pictures:

Belly laying claim to Ellie's tummy-time mat

Getting ready to move while taking care of Eleanor is a tough, dirty and dusty business. We have packers so 75% of the work will be done by others but in the interest of making our boxed belongings comprehensible when we unpack, we have to do a lot of organizing and rationalizing. Moby wraps, slings and Baby Bjorns all work well when upright but less well when bending over to sort out a drawer. Poor kid. Neither of us have banged her head against anything. Yet.

It’s not fun but Daniel and I are sharing the work and, on the other end, we have our dear friend Ryan B. flying in from Ottawa to help us.

I would say we owe him our firstborn but, truthfully, I’m not giving this one up: