Can I have a pet?

Every parent is asked this question at some point: "Can I have a pet?"

I have been asked this question at least twice a week by our now-4-year-old Tate since he was 2. My response has always been this: "Daddy is allergic to fur. Do you want Daddy to sneeze every day, or not be able to breathe?" Of course, the guilt applied here worked effectively until Tate went to pre-K and learned that there are plenty of pets that do not have fur.

We decided that we would investigate a pet when Tate turned 5. We would consider a non-furry, hypo-allergenic pet that could be cared for by a kindergarten-age kid with a lot of motivation. I had plenty of pets growing up: a dog who lived to be 16, several cats, hampsters and gerbils, fish etc. My brother also had a bunch of other pets that we barely knew about; he hid quite a few of them in his room. Hubby had pets, too, and we agree that having a pet is a really important and wonderful part of childhood. We just wanted it to be about the kids taking care of it, not us. (I know, wishful thinking...)

We selected age 5 because, at the time, it seemed far off enough to deflect most requests. It also seemed like the easiest way to allow us time to investigate options.

"Mommy, can I pleeeeeeeeeeeeease have a pet?" (Cue adorable face and sad eyes.)

"Tate, are you 5 yet?"

"Mommy, pets don't care if I'm 5 yet. They neeeeeeed me." (He does have a point.)

So this summer we have been deluged by requests to adopt other people's pets. These owners with lovable, older pets -- all moving away to places where the pets would not be allowed or happy -- each assured us theirs would be a "good first pet." So I did some research.

• Cats have fur, are decidedly not hypo-allergenic and hubby really dislikes them. = OUT
• Turtles require lots of space, wet and dry, and adults have to clean the cage regularly. = OUT
• Fish and frogs are just kind of boring, slimy, and you can't "hug" them they way Tate would like. = OUT
• Ferrets are nocturnal, back into a corner and pee (which therefore makes them somewhat smelly), and like to "hide," sometimes for days at a time. = OUT
• Hampsters are not very friendly and can bite. = OUT
• Rats....?

Wait. Did you say rats, like the kind we have to exterminate in the alley? As a pet? You've got to be kidding. Oh, whew, you meant a "fancy rat," like in "Ratatouille," with refined tastes, love for his family and amazing skills. But people are still scared of rats, right? I mean, won't our friends and family all be freaked out by our pet if we get one?

It turns out that rats are almost the ideal first pet: smaller and friendlier than a guinea pig, cleaner than cats, smarter than dogs, and more loving and bonded to their owners than ferrets. That being the case, I thought, "Maybe we should just check to see if there are any rats for adoption in the area..." and lo and behold, I found one.

Remy. Just like the main character from the adorable, Disney/Pixar animated film. So we are going to his "foster home" to meet this 3-4 month old little guy and see if he is a good fit for our family. If he is the chosen one, we will need to get him a friend, because rats, like most small pets, need companionship. So if we get one, it will probably be two.

I am excited and a bit nervous and wondering if I'm on the precipice of Tate's Menagerie... But it's gotta start somewhere, and maybe with this rat.

Being OK with who you are

I am not a camper. I grew up in the Black Hills, and I love hiking, and all the things that go along with being a nature lover. I love the wilderness, staying at our family's cabin and lying all night in the hammock. I know what to do when an animal crosses your path in the woods, and I appreciate them from a safe distance. I love campfires and making s'mores. I love all of this in small doses. Small, perfect doses that are followed by a shower and a latte and a return to civilization, where I can recount the beautiful hikes and wonderful time spent in the fresh air. People love to do these little trips to the cabin with me, because I make it fun. I am really, really into this when I know what it will be like, and I know when it ends. I have control, and I use that control to ensure that everyone has a great time: perfectly timed hikes, with snacks at the scenic overlook, meals on the picnic table, a creek to fish in, dessert by firelight... You get the picture.

I have always politely declined when friends have asked us to join them on their 3-day camping trips in the wilds of Wisconsin, state parks with crazy names, necessitating long drives, too much planning, and far too many horror stories for my liking. I have been OK with refusing these outdoor adventures, but my husband has not been. He has been secretly pining away for a chance to camp.

So I went camping. I went because when I threatened to stay home after an argument with my husband about my slowness at packing, my almost 7-year-old son looked at me with teary eyes and said, "Mommy, it won't be any fun at all if you don't go. Please come, Mommy...Please!" And so, of course, I went. I could not bear to leave him to the deep, dark forest alone. He might need me. And I might need him. Plus, I do like nature, and how bad could it really be? My husband promised, after apologizing for his packing freak-out, that if it was terrible we would go to a hotel, find a children's museum and farmer's market, and everyone would be happy. So I put on my brave face, shoved the last item into the front seat of the car (with my laptop!) and we headed for Wisconsin.

I won't bore you with the details of camping. I mean, it was camping, with a tent, and sleeping bags, and two blow-up mattresses for the 4 people who would sleep in the tent. Our little family was taking its first camping trip together! And yes, just like it should in the middle of Wisconsin in the summertime, it was humid, and it rained. Overnight. A lot. Everything was wet. But I just rolled with it. I mean, what could we do? No one complained, no one. Not the kids (who slept through the raging thunderstorm, I might add), not my husband, and certainly not me. There were no mosquitos to speak of, which was a shock. We had food, we had fresh air and trees, we had plenty of alcohol to drink, we had s'mores around the campfire. The kids could run around in the woods, all sweaty and dirty, just like little boys are supposed to do. They could pee on a tree anytime they felt like it. They could have juice boxes and Gatorade and chocolate milk, anytime they wanted. They were in kid heaven. So there was no reason for me to complain.

But I have determined, that I am not going to try and BE a camper. We don't need to buy camping equipment and go whole hog. I am who I am, a city girl who just happens to love nature. In doses. I don't have to pretend to be all granola-y just to be cool. Camping once or twice a year would be fine with me, and I think it will be. Because I know who I am, and I'm OK with it. And being a Sweet means learning to be OK with who you are.

First Day of School

Every parent feels this way, I know. I have heard it from my friends, sisters, neighbors, casual acquaintances... It's shocking to realize that you no longer have little ones. They are now in school...until they are adults!

Preschool is easier; it's a choice you make, not a requirement. And Tate will have a blast for his 2.5 hours a day in the awesome Pre-K where Quin was last year. It's a known entity, a wonderful place to be and very safe and loving. But I'm less sure about Quin, now that he is my "big boy."

No one can believe their child is actually in Kindergarten, off to school, completely out of your control for most of the day. THE WHOLE DAY, and riding the bus, and being around much bigger kids with very different agendas. I feel like I've thrown Quin to the wolves. When will this feeling end?

Delicious Summertime

Is there anything more delicious than a warm, sunny day...the kind with puffy, white clouds and a slight breeze to cut the heat? I would have to say that today was made much more enjoyable thanks to my lunchtime trip to the Farmer's Market.

A colleague and I snaked our way through tall buildings and stoplight crossings, under the L tracks, to the center of the Loop and the Farmer's Market they hold for downtown workers, etc. at Daly Plaza in Chicago. It is hilarious to experience the juxtaposition of the construction noise, the police officers directing traffic, the hard and cold building facades, and the professionally attired (and somewhat sweaty) women and men browsing the farm stands, meandering through the flower and herb displays, tasting cheeses and honey and cherries driven into the city, early in the morning, by the dedicated (and also sweaty) farmers, their children, and their employees.

I just took a bite of my first fresh apricot of the season. It's sweet and tart and dripping with juice. YUM! It tastes just like summer. Today I also picked up blackberries and raspberries and cherries and peaches...and a lone cucumber. We'll enjoy these until Sunday, when we'll start the process all over again at our neighborhood's much smaller, intimate and laid-back market, aptly named the Wicker Park Farmer's Market. On Sunday I'll get freshly baked scones and just-picked baby lettuces, and organic cauliflower and carrots of many colors, and some raspberry vinegar and fresh mushrooms and maybe a bouquet that includes snapdragons and sunflowers. And whatever else looks good and helps me feel connected to the land outside the city. It all tastes amazing, and it changes every week.

Being a Sweet means appreciating the flavors of summer, as fleeting as they are.

Our Real Home

The house is strangely quiet without Grammy and Popa visiting. Of course, I should not complain since we got to keep them here for two extra days (thank you Mother Nature!), but I'm complaining anyway. They live too far away! It's crazy that life has changed radically in just two short generations. People used to stay near their families, not disperse the way the Sweets have.

Let's see...one of us in San Diego, one in North Carolina, one in Kansas City, one in Chicago, and one who moves around depending on where the wildfires are...and yet I would guess that all of us still consider Rapid City, South Dakota as "home." Because that's where Mom and Dad are. Because that's the place we spent our formative years, where most of our "firsts" happened. Because our roots pull us back there as strongly as if we were tethered to the earth in the Black Hills.

When I imagine "home" I visualize one particular house situated on the edge of a golf course with a crazy apple tree in the backyard and deer running through it, unaware of Dad's watchful eye and paint gun pointed in their direction... I think of the clean, slightly pine-scented fresh air, and dark sky and bright stars at night. I remember kicking shoes off at the front door, hanging out in the kitchen and checking drawers and cupboards for snacks, piling onto Mom and Dad's bed to watch the tiny TV and snuggle (or fight for space) on the bed. I imagine holidays with cousins all around, dressing up and acting crazy, inventing games and putting on "shows." All these things were the same when I was little and lived there every day, and now when I visit a couple weeks a year. We have a new batch of kids to do the crazy stuff, and now we're the adults paying admission charges, cheering on the kids' "firsts" and breaking up the inevitable fights. Mom's still taking care of everybody, only now her name is "Grammy." Dad's still staying up too late and dispensing good advice, but now he'll drop anything when he hears a little voice say "Popa!" Even with these changes, it's still home.

Of course, I have a wonderful husband and we are making our home with the boys here in Chicago. I love it here, too, but I still feel that incredible pull back to R.C. Do you feel it?

Being a Sweet means appreciating home. Let's talk about what "home" really means. Go ahead and post!

P.S. If you want to post a response, just click on the link and type away! It's not scary, just try it. xo

Snowbound

I guess it was inevitable that bad weather would strike again. The winter storm raging here in the midwest has made travel for my parents impossible, and thus, they are stuck here in Chicago with us. Hooray! (I know, I shouldn't be so happy about flight cancellations, but I am loving the extra time with them.)

Actually, the weather is completely hideous: cold, wind blowing the cristallized snowflakes sideways, shifting snowdrifts every few feet, etc. This makes driving a serious pain yet necessary in the city, and makes us just want to stay in. Good thing we stocked up at the grocery store yesterday, before the blizzard hit, and are therefore sitting pretty in terms of meals, treats and drinks to keep us happy. I don't think the delivery drivers for our favorite restaurants would be feeling very happy with us if we called them today.

The kids are thrilled they get to watch so many movies, and read piles of books, and play imagination games, and just have gobs of attention from Grammy and Popa. They did go to daycare for a few hours today so that I could do some "work." God, I love working at home and wearing fleece and slippers and no makeup. It feels decadent!

Being a Sweet means loving fleece - wearing it, being wrapped in it, buying it, every bit of it. (Dear other Sweets, don't you agree? Isn't fleece the best?)

Anticipation

We are VERY excited at our house about the impending arrival of Grammy & Popa. And by excited I mean that the kids and I are fairly bursting out of our skin with anticipation. There is nothing better in the world than having your parents (or grandparents, particularly when you're little) around! I can't believe they are actually coming today. Now, if only the weather would cooperate, because I hate worrying.

Everybody knows that winter travel sucks. There is no polite way to say it. When you live in the snowy tundra of the northern plains, it's going to be this way. Even global warming does not seem to helping. (Does this mean another ice age is on its way? Or that we are going to be living alongside the "tropical Great Lakes" here in a few generations? I need to look into this...)

Anyway, the *@#$%!! weather is already delaying my parents' flights here to Chicago. It's a gorgeous day, sunny, blue skies, no clouds, and 2 degrees F. Yes, you read that right...it's 2F/-17C, depending on your preference for F or C. My guess is that the de-icing of every plane is slowing things considerably. Well, that and de-cing the runways, and oiling all the parts with de-icing fuids, etc. I just want them to get here safely, and soon.

Have you ever noticed how disgusting road salt and sand and other chemical combinations thereof really are? They are hideous. They eat through clothing! They cover my children's winter coats and my cute black pants. They irritate my husband when they cover our car so we can't see out the windows. And yet, we need them. So... Why am I rambling about road salt? I don't know! I am just irritated that it is so freakin' cold out, and my parents are coming for a long weekend, and we are all going to be frozen and covered with salt everywhere we go. Doesn't that sound like fun?

Anyway...
Being a Sweet means being more excited to see your own family than almost anyone else in the whole world.

Musical interlude

I am not too busy at work right now, which is a miracle, so I have had time to obsession over two things I love: food and music. I have been spending time with my CD's, mp3's and and figuring out what to burn and put into the 6-CD changer for my short commutes. That is, when the kids don't dictate that we listen to Wiggleworms or Ralph's World or Justin Roberts... Who's in charge here, anyway?!?

I love modern folk and singer-songwriters with soul, and have created several crazy compilations on iTunes. I need to share these with my husband, since I am the main repository of music in our household. But anyway, I wanted to share some really great musicians with you:

Ellis Paul - the king of indy singer-songwriters, from Maine, and SO cool in person! His lyrics are stunning.

Teitur - Danish songwriter with a gentle spirit, makes me feel like I'm wrapped up in a blanket

Sufjan Stevens - from right here in Illinoise! I still can't figure out how to pronounce his name, but he's brilliant

KT Tunstall - from Wales, but went to prep school in the US, she seriously rocks

Michael Tolcher - a Georgia boy who sings about learning the hard way, something we all can relate to!

I also have a thing for the pop-y pretty boys, who get airplay for a single song (or a few more), but whose albums are even better than the singles: Josh Kelley, Jason Mraz, John Mayer, Jack Johnson, James Blunt, Gavin DeGraw and Daniel Powter. Check these guys out!!!

All of these artists are worth a listen, and I'd argue that they are writing some of the most gorgeous, poignant music out there today. They each have something to say, and they say it beautifully.

Being a Sweet means appreciating the little things in life that bring you joy, and not take those things for granted. So, today, I am grateful for great music and the ability to enjoy it every day!

Starting today

I've been thinking about this for a while.
I've said to myself...

Let's figure out a way to get some photos and stories and random memories posted for free!

Let's invent another way to procrastinate when you have a report due!

Let's find a way to fill hours in the middle of the night, both when you need sleep and when you are experiencing insomnia!

I know...
Let's start a blog!

I expect that my mom and dad will check for new postings daily, as will my sisters. Other family members might post their own thoughts. I welcome any comments you want to make!

I'm hoping that anyone who reads this blog will get a sense of what it means to be "a Sweet." I'll say right off the bat: it's pretty great. My mission isn't just to brag about how great my family is, how great my life is. It's the same as everyone else's in that your life is what you make it! But, I am incredibly fortunate to have been put on this earth as a Sweet.

Every time I post I'm going to try to conclude with something that I feel relates to being a Sweet. Since my parents are coming to visit this weekend, I'm thinking of them the most. And this is what I know about all of us:

Being a Sweet means knowing that there is no place like home.