Homes Sweet Homes

My younger brother reminded me the other day that it has been seven years since our father unexpectedly died. Seven years. That's a lifetime for my three boys, but a drop in the bucket for us old(erish) folks.

I was struck by how foggy my memory was on the details already. Especially as I couldn't remember where I lived when my dad died. Was I driving back and forth from Madison, Wisc., when 'it' was going down? I remember driving a ways, because my mother gave me the I-Pass from my Dad's Mercury Marquis so that I could more easily run back and forth. (And I remember one of my Phelan friends ... was it Mary, Cath, one of their seven brothers, or even their mom? ... they're all quite witty ... who joked at the funeral luncheon "well, there's your inheritance.")

No, no, I was in Madison when my Mom died three years ago. That I still remember too well.

So I had to stop to think. (I hate when that happens.) That's when I realized seven years ago Kevin and I were living in our first home, a townhouse in Chicago. Since then, we've moved to our 'starter home' in Park Ridge, then to Madison, Wisc. (temporarily in temporary housing), back to Park Ridge, again to temporary housing in Chicago as we rehabbed that Park Ridge house, and finally back to our renovated/modernized 100-year-old house. Whew. That's four permanent residences and two temporary residences in seven years.

As much as I gripe (mostly to Kevin) about our frequent-flier address changes, I've got to say, I wouldn't do it differently if I were to do it again. At our townhouse, we had the most incredible neighbors, even if they couldn't help us order a beer in our neighborhood's Polish bar despite their years of Polish School.

Again at our -- at the time 'pork and beans' house* -- home in Park Ridge, we had neighbors so incredible one family is now our middle son's "God family."

Madison. Well, what can I say, because a few of you are reading this? Just kidding. Even if you weren't, I'd say it. I adore you. Not to mention that it was a new-found friend there who is the reason we have our middle son, thanks to introducing us to a great adoption agency!

Back in PR, we've been blessed again with neighbors who simply amaze us by their generosity, friendship and, well, patience with our ongoing construction and the noise three boys can make on a playset at 7 in the morning.

Take seven years. Subtract two parents. Add six addresses. Add two children.

The sum: A chaos I couldn't live without.

Cheers to you all!

*pork-and-beans house was Karen Linden's (RIP, my namesake, Luella's matron of honor and the realtor who helped us land the first Park Ridge house) term for stretching to the next $ to get the house you really want.