evenkeel goes through menopause

In general, I'm hot, and when I'm hot I sweat. And when I sweat, I get annoyed. Unless I'm playing hockey or doing something physically active, sweating is not a good thing. As a matter of fact, it's a bit of a pet peeve of mine. Now, you're probably wondering how someone like this could have possibly grown up in the South. Two words: Air Conditioning.

While winters in Chicago can get somewhat brutal, I always remind myself that it could be worse...I could be hot and sweaty. Actually, in the winter time I sometimes find myself getting sweaty and aggravated by having to run up stairs, or hustle somewhere while wearing three or six layers. Oh, the irony.

During our trip down to Atlanta for Rosh Hashanah, my internal thermostat was going haywire. No matter what the setting, I was hot. During the morning services, we took our seats with plenty of time before things got underway. While Mike, Carol, Overboard and I played, "How do we know that congregant," I furiously fanned myself with the program guide. Mike looked at me incredulously, and I simply stared at him and said, in my best Scarlett O'Hara, "Lawdy, I think I have the vay-pors."

Even after coming home, I've been dealing with being hot when those around me are comfortable. At the office, I often turn on the portable fan by my desk, while the guy who sits across from me puts on his sweatshirt. I can't explain it, but my best theory is that I'm either spending way too much time in refrigerated ice rinks, or I'm going through menopause. I'm sure there's a pill for it, but I hate to think of what the side effects may be...

goodnight bawstin

When we got married, people gave us tons of candlesticks. We joked that they were our "toasters" (you know, the wedding gift you get multiples of). When Kenny came along we received multiple copies of the classic bedtime storybook, "Goodnight Moon." The best, however, was the copy we received of, "Goodnight Boston." Following a similar story arc, this one says "goodnight" to all kinds of Boston landmarks. When we read it to Kenny, we always use our best Boston accent. As far as we can tell, he thinks it's "wikkid pissa."

sadie goes back home again

Last weekend we packed up the whole family (baby and dog alike) and took a roadtrip down to St. Louis to visit with Overboard's cousin Elise and her Aussie husband Danny. For Sadie, who was adopted by Evenkeel 11 years ago in St. Louis, this was a homecoming of sorts, since we hadn't been back since 1996.

We decided to be clever, and leave Friday night after Kenny had eaten and was ready to go to bed. Instead of placing him in his crib, we strapped him into his car seat and hit the open road. He slept like a champ the whole way down (the same can't be said for the Sadist), but woke up just as we were leaving scenic East St. Louis and crossing into St. Louis. Lucky for us, Elise and Danny don't live terribly far outside of town, because young master Kenny was hungry and was quick to let us know about it.

Interestingly enough, Danny had been on a work roadtrip of his own, and rolled in ten minutes after we did (around 1:30am). Thus, we found ourselves in a fun spot early in the morning, where everyone was awake (albeit exhausted).

On Saturday, we drove into town and went back to the "old neighborhood" of the Central West End. We all took a nice long walk around Forest Park, and I pointed out the historical Sadie markers, including the lake she first jumped into in order to swim after a flock of ducks. After which, I commented to myself, "Well, I guess she can swim."


Posing in front of Lake Caninus Aqus

Danny & Elise


"Look, Ma! A rainbow!

We then went over to the old apartment building for a quick snap shot, then around the corner for lunch. That night, we drove about 50 miles or so out of town to go to a BBQ and bonfire at a co-worker of Elise's farm. Yes, farm. She raises horses and everything. Sadie had a ball running around and sniffing everything, including the horses, kids, other dogs, and a tiny group of kittens who were keeping warm in front of a space heater in the "kitty nursery."



Sunday consisted of a very relaxing stretch of hanging out at Danny & Elise's and playing with the boy. Just like home!








The drive back went smoothly, as the spud slept once again. I'm telling ya, this kid...

i want you, to wipe my nose

Oh yeah, it's getting to be jacket weather around here...

cousin eric meets mr. k

Chris and Steph weren't the only ones from LA who were in town that weekend. My cousin, Eric, came in as well and we got to go out to lunch with him and Mitch. Afterwards, we snapped a few pix at the homestead.

clock? what clock?

Before Chris and Steph went back to LA, we had them over for dinner, along with Sarah, Reggie and Grant. Unfortunately, we didn't take any pictures until everyone was getting ready to leave, but I did get this good one.

See, amongst our friends, we have a bit of an unofficial "baby pool" going as to who will be parenting next. Just when Chris thought he was safe, I handed Kenny to Steph and her eyes lit up and she became overcome with joy. Next thing you know, she's cooing, oohing, aaahing, and staring wistfully into young Mr. Kenny's eyes. That's when I got this picture -- check out the look on Chris' face. Hee hee hee...

mr. and mrs. shoes!

On October 7, our good friends Rob and Heather got married. As an extra honor, they asked me to be an usher and be a part of the ceremony. This meant that I got to put on a styling tux and work with Our Man in LA, as we "ushed" with the best of them.

The weekend festivities took place at the Pheasant Run Resort in St. Charles, IL (a little ways west of Chicago). On Friday night, we had the rehearsal, then the rehearsal dinner at a local Giordano's (one of Chicago's go-to chains for authentic deep dish pizza).

As a special treat for Rob, who is a huge fan of the show, "Curb Your Enthusiasm," it turned out that Richard Lewis was performing at the comedy club located at Pheasant's Run. We pointed out Mr. Lewis' presence to Shoes, who then walked up with Heather and said, "Hi, we're getting married tomorrow, mind if we get a picture?" The direct approach worked well, as you can see below. On the flip side, Mr. Lewis definitely looked every inch the man who blasted his body and brain with drugs during the '80s. Ouch. Nice though.



At the rehearsal, the bride and groom mugged their way through, wearing hats with their designations on them, you know, so everyone would know who was who.


Overboard brought Kenny to the rehearsal dinner, and was there already when I arrived. She was feeding him in the front of the restaurant, and everyone seemed happy and content. This fell in line with what we were telling everyone about how good and "unflappable" Kenny was.

Before long, we moved into the area in the back of the busy restaurant where the tables were and got a nice spot in the corner. I was holding Mr. K, and then placed him in his car seat so I could have my hands free and he could chill out. About two seconds after strapping him in, he heard or saw something that spooked him and the boy "flapped." With incredible lung strength, he began to WAIL. I'm talking, "What's wrong with your kid?" kind of wailing. We tried to soothe him, but he wasn't having it, so Overboard took him out of the seat and carried him to the front of the restaurant, Kenny wailing all the way. Overboard then decided to take him into the bathroom in order to get him away from any extra noise, and I dutifully waited outisde the door. As women walked by, I wondered what they'd think when they stepped in to powder their nose, only to find a harried looking woman wielding a screaming baby. Wheee.

Although Kenny calmed a little bit, he was still pretty peturbed. We decided to grab his car seat and drive him around the parking lot in order to soothe him. This worked, but I decided not to test my luck by bringing him back inside. Instead, I let Overboard return to the party and I took the spud home. Thus, I can't really explain what these pictures are about, just tell you who they are. ;)

Our Man & Woman in LA - Chris & Steph

The Angelinos and the man formerly known as "Bachelor Party Guy"

Sarah & Reggie (who we found out that night passed the IL bar!)

Steph & Overboard

Heather, the beautiful bride and her (soon to be) niece Samantha

Shoes, having a lousy time as usual

The weather on Saturday was perfect, which was good, since it was an outdoor wedding. Everything went well, and beyond the incredible ushering skills Chris and I displayed, Shoes and Heather did a nice job too.





The Usual Suspects

At the reception, the wedding party got to make a big entrance. Since Chris and I were going in together, I decided we should act like the other "couples." I did ask him, however, why I had to take his arm and not the other way around. "Is this a height thing?" I asked.







Steph dared me to lick the ice sculpture. I asked her how much she was offering. She went from $100 down to $20, but I took her up on it anyways.

Besides, I knew if I didn't take advantage of the offer, Shoes would do it for free.

And I was right.

Shoes later asked me, "Doesn't she know me? I would've mounted that thing on a dare."

And THAT, is what I call a reception.

a new blog for you to check out

Our good friend Grant has created a new blog to chronicle his return to Chicago and life as a substitute (and hopefully soon to be full time) teacher. Read all about it here.

speaking of hockey...

The NHL season has begun again, and for our household, that means another season of the Center Ice package so I can watch my beloved Thrashers games (which, I must point out, have been going quite well off the bat). Overboard puts up with my increasing hockey obsession, and "allows" me to get the package and watch the Thrashers games. Now, when it comes to other teams, well, that becomes a matter of debate. Try as I may to explain why I'd like to watch Penguins or Capitals games to see Crosby, Malkin, and Ovechkin, she isn't really having it. Although, due to my telling her hockey minutiae whether she wants to hear it or not, she actually knows (to a degree) who those guys are.

My beautiful bride looked at me the other night and announced that she remembers when I just kind of liked hockey. Of course, once I started playing ice hockey, my like turned to love, and my love sometimes borders on necessitation of a restraining order. In my defense, I didn't buy the Thrashers jammies for Kenny, they were a gift from his cousin (I'm just sayin').

I will admit that my interest in the sport (which was pretty strong to begin with) has grown by leaps and bounds since I first strapped on a pair of skates a few years back. However, I stand by my passion and see no reason or need to let up just yet. I was at the very first Thrashers game back in 1999, and I'd like to be at the game when they raise the Stanley Cup over their heads (which, hopefully, won't be that long in coming).

Some people are obsessive about football (American, European or even Canadian), or baseball, or basketball, or whatever. I love hockey. I'm a member of a niche group of people who don't live in the Great White North who love the game and have the fun responsibility of defending that love to anyone and everyone else. I'm one of those people who moans in despair every time I open my new Sports Illustrated to realize that there is no hockey coverage, but there is a three page spread on Texas Hold 'em poker or the PBA pro bowling tour. Sigh.

I definitely want to expose Kenny to the game, and maybe he'll even want to play, but I won't force it on him. Like I tell my friends, you know, he may not want to play hockey. He may want to play golf. Which is fine, so long as he doesn't truly torture himself and become the one hockey thing I just can't bear to see him become: a Blackhawks fan. The horror...

los phantasmos fantasticos

Lest you think I've stopped playing hockey, allow me to catch you up.

Over the summer, after winning the Chicago tournament, my team then went on to win the summer league championship. Heading into the new fall/winter, we have enough guys to form two squads in two of the tiers of the local HNA league. Thus, the Tier 4 team is still the Phantoms, while the Tier 3 team is now known as Los Phantasmos de Chicago. You can keep up all of the hockey exploits on my hockey page, or better yet, at the Chicago Phantoms homepage.

Ole.

jump around

Our friends once again gave us a hand-me-down toy that is a big hit. When we heard from daycare that Kenny loved to bounce around in a jumper swing, we realized we had one here at the house. The other day, we set him up and let him loose. He gets a big kick out of using his feet to turn himself in circles, and even likes to nosh on the front "bumper" from time to time, to keep things interesting (and tasty). Overboard calls this Kenny's "soft shoe" routine, since he uses his little socked feet to shuffle around and around.


Kenny enjoying a good jumper snack.

photo issues

not sure why blogger is giving me grief publishing certain photos. i'll see what i can do. sorry...

our new motto: sit up, not spit up

shana tovah, y'all

In what is becoming a new tradition, the clan all descended upon Atlanta for Rosh Hashanah. The Oaklandites, Uncle Mike, Aunt Carol and big Cousin Adam came in, and we took Mr. Kenny on his very first plane ride to be there as well.



Kenny, surprise, surprise, was a champ on the flight. He slept in the car on the way to the airport, but woke up when the cool morning air hit him in the parking lot. He was very wide-eyed, taking in the whole O'Hare experience, and didn't fall asleep until after we had strapped his car seat into the seat on the plane. Mr. Awesome Flyer then proceeded to sleep until there was about a half hour or so left in the flight. At this point, he had a bottle, burped a few times, then crashed out again back in his car seat. I'm telling you, we keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak, but he just keeps on being Mr. Mellow.

To sum up the weekend, we had a lot of fun communing with the family, and getting to see Mom, Dad, and Grandpa Jesse again. Adam was a lot of fun, and I never tire of hearing, "Unca Greg! Unca Greg! Unca Greg!" I definitely look forward to the day when Kenny is older and can trot around after Adam and really play with his cousin. I also thoroughly enjoyed the Chik-Fil-A sandwiches Mike brought me on Saturday, even if it ruined my dinner (sorry, Mom).


Kenny and Uncle Mike


The Rolnick Men


Family portrait

Kenny was due for a bath while we were in Atlanta, so we gave him his first one in an actual bath. Normally, Overboard and I have a whole routine with our plastic tub that fits so nicely on our kitchen counter. In an effort to make the process go smoothly, Overboard got into the tub with the boy. Of course, she at first tried to squat instead of sitting in the water, but this was doomed to failure (and leg cramps), and added to the general oddness of the whole endeavor. We did manage to get the boy clean, however, and I don't think I need to add that he just sort of hung out in a bemused way the entire time. Unflappable, this kid. To that end, his great grandfather spent an inordinate amount of time marveling at his disposition and repeatedly exclaiming, "The kid doesn't cry!"






While we bathed Kenny, Mike and Adam horsed around in the hallway.



The cousins just hangin' out


We also got to visit with some friends, who were nice enough to drop by the house to visit and meet Mr. K. Unfortunately, we don't have enough pictures, but we'll see what else we can scrounge up (anyone?).

Marcia and Mr. K!



On the way home, we were delayed a number of hours by foul weather and ended up on a full flight, thus necessitating the boy to sleep in his mommy's arms instead of his car seat. As usual, he did just that and was unconscious the whole way home.

With two more plane trips to go this year, we're hoping our frequent flyer keeps up his stellar track record.

daycare, one month later + bedtime concerts

Well, Overboard has been back at work for a month now, which means that Mr. Kenny has spent the same amount of time at daycare. I'm happy to report that they're both doing well, even if they might miss spending as much time together as they had over the summer.

Kenny has the better end of the deal. Although he doesn't get paid, he's having fun playing during the day and watching all of the "big kids." Apparently, he's fascinated by the other kids and loves watching anything and everything they do. What's cool is that the daycare has this table where there are a number of built in seats in the middle of the table. This way, Kenny sits in the middle of the table and the other kids sit on the outside. He gets to be part of the action, and gnaws away at either his knuckles or a stuffed animal while the other kids paint, play, etc.

As for Overboard, there was no real easing into work. The day she returned the powers that be dumped a TON of work on her desk as a "welcome back." She's doing really well, however, and has received a number of very nice "Thank God you're back" comments, which are always an ego boost.

We've established a solid daycare routine. I'm in charge of the boy in the morning (getting him fed, changed, and over to daycare) while M-J heads into work early. Come 3:45 in the afternoon, she's out the door and on her way to the train. As the one who gets to pick up Mr. K, Overboard has a solid few hours with him at the end of the day. Me? I try to leave work as early as I can in order to get anywhere from a half hour to an hour and a half with the boy before it's time for him to go to sleep. When that time comes, I also handle the bedtime duties.



Kenny and I have a musical bedtime routine, where after I put him down, I start in with the evening's concert. I usually stick to the "classics" from Sinatra and the rest of the Rat Pack, but I also like to throw in some Beatles and a rousing (yet soothing) rendition of "Take Me Out To The Ball Game." On occasion, I borrow from AJ's playbook and sing "O Canada." AJ started singing this to Ava when she was a baby because, as he explained, "I knew the words and every time they sing that something good happens right after...like hockey." Most nights, I like to end the performance with John Lennon's "Beautiful Boy."

On a good night, the concert is quite brief, but sometimes I plumb the depths of my songbook in an effort to get him to drift off to sleep. The other night, after it took some time for him to start sawing toothpicks, I danced my way out of the room singing, "Goodnight Sweetheart, well it's time to go...ba dump bump bump bump..."

I'm curious to see if, later in life, he falls asleep whenever Ol' Blue Eyes comes on the radio.

yet another blog apology

Just when I feel like I'm staying on top of this whole blogging thing, life gets in the way and I fall way behind. My apologies (again). I was going to try and catch up on Monday, but I didn't think blogging on Yom Kippur was, how you say, "kosher."

Let's see what I can find...