Versailles Part I

Cindy, one of my co-workers, asked me to write a story from a few months back. It was a great story when I told it at the time but having to write it down months later will test my remembering and writing skills - two skills that I'm not too proud of but would like to improve with this blog-xperiment. I've always been able to tell a story far better than writing it down.

My aunt and uncle came in from Oregon this past April for Passover. The first Sedar wasn't until Saturday night and my mom approached me about finding a nice restaurant we could all go to on Friday night. She gave me a list Russian restaurants in the northwest suburbs recommended by her across the street Russian party animal neighbors and asked me to look them up on the internet.

Metromix led us to settle on Versailles Restaurant just steps from my parents house:

"Versailles Restaurant's Russian and French menu includes foie gras, tuna tartar, borscht, mixed vegetables vinegrette, Siberian ravioli and chicken Kiev served in a super-posh dining room with crystal glasses and chandeliers and candelabras for lighting. The crowd is mostly Russian, but anyone who's curious is advised to come on a weekday or plan in advance; Friday and Saturday get busy, with live international music adding an extra draw, so reservations are recommended one month ahead. "

We didn't have a month lead time - in fact we had only a day and a half. My mom called and after speaking to the owner who had to check to see if they could make it work (???) she called her back the next day to say that our party of five would be welcome at 7:30 p.m.

After putting the girls to bed, I found my dressiest maternity top and raced over by 8:00 p.m. Walking in, I was struck by the extreme juxtaposition between the Buffalo Grove strip mall exterior and the extravagant interior of heavy burgundy drapes that covered the windows and chandeliers that dressed the ceiling. Metromix was right on with the decor.

I approached the empty hostess desk and an elderly Russian woman dressed a sequined off-white dress sat in a chair just to the side and silently watched (judged) me. Also she didn't react to my reaching-out half smile. After looking around for a bit, a woman in black finally came out. Convinced that my family was here already - perhaps tucked away in a brimming dining room somewhere in the back, I asked the woman if I could go look for them. She shrugged her shoulders as I proceeded to let myself into the one and only dining room.

The one - completely empty- dining room. Picture a stage in the back of the room with a good sized dance floor in front. And big speakers. Long tables, lending themselves to family-style eating went around the dance floor. Each table had heavy burgundy cloths. Each table was dressed with a GIGANTIC candelabra. The chairs were velvety. And literally, there was no one in the room. I stepped back to hostess stand and back into the room. A couple of waiters began to shuffle in and out and gave me funny looks.

I had that familiar 'Why am I here; I knew this would happen' feeling in my gut. I scooted myself outside to the parking lot and flipped open my phone when I saw my mom's red Subaru Forester start to pull in. My family emerged dressed pretty casual - well, casual relative to the old woman in sequins.

Inside my mom could immediatly communicate in Russian and the hostess politely led us all into the --still empty -- dining room. We made our way to the far inside very last table on the left side of the dance floor. A bus boy came and filled our crystal water glasses. Did I mention that there was NO ONE ELSE in the room?

I recounted my humiliation of the past 15 minutes as my family began to peruse the menu. No one seemed to be quite as bothered by the bizarreness of the whole situation.

After we ordered our food, a few people started to trickle in. But strangely they didn't sit down. Also they all seemed to know one another. And they were dressed very fancy. There were little boys in little suits and little girls in flower-girl type dressed that chased each other around the dance floor. The parents just stood around and mingled. They all seemed to know everyone including the hostess, the waiters and the old woman in sequins.

(OK so this is where I go back to work and write more tomorrow....Stay tuned for Versailles Part II) The screen behind us in the photo above is a hint to what lies ahead. Below is another photo taken that night that will hopefully serve as a teaser as well:

The Potty

We started potty training last weekend. Our main motivation is to not have three kids in diapers at the same time. It is has been frustrating, exhilarating, annoying, rewarding and terrifying all at once. They have both shown signs of getting it and then totally not getting it.

We offered them one sticker for a pee pee on the potty and they negotiated five stickers for a poop.

Haircut

I just chopped my hair. All in all, the total damage was 4-5 inches. It was getting so long and unruly and I felt it weighing me down daily. It must have been really bad because I even told the new girl that I wasn't attached to the length at all.

"Just do whatever you think."

Ok, so here is where all you girls with thick, curly hair gasp. We all know by now that you can't ever say that to someone with that much power over our lives.

The first truly horrible school picture I had was fourth grade. That was when my hair began to resemble a redheaded Richard Marx. For some reason my mom was convinced that with that much hair, we HAD to keep it short. By sixth grade (conveniently the worst grade ever to socially stand out in any way) my hair had a life of its own. And it was a short, frizzy, bushy, out of control life. I haven't had the therapy to really delve into some of the trauma that was sixth grade at Longfellow. Let's just say that the nickname "Salad" came about one day in Mrs. Lindberg's science class and didn't leave for many months to come. My diary from that time resembles one of a total unstable, violent, angry, come-to-school-and-fire-away-at-the-mean-kids girl. And I can honestly say that so much of that had to do with my horrible hair.

It was near the end of eighth grade, getting ready for opening night of the Variety Show, when I finally discovered mousse and it changed my life. Eventually I stopped the cutting, survived the difficult growing out phase and learned to stop brushing it out. Freshman year was a whole new ball game. A year later, I even had my first official boyfriend. I'll never forget when we went to go see "A River Runs Through It" at Ridge Plaza and he asked me for my school picture.

These days my hair routine is similar to our nighttime routine with the girls in that, regardless of what others say, I know the exact process that has to take place to avoid total anarchy. I know when hair people tell me to try new products - a sculpting creme or something, or if they want to show me how to blow dry it out, I just smile and nod. When I go home the routine remains the same: brush it out with Pantene in the shower, Finesse Curl Revitalizing mousse afterwards, a couple scrunches and that's it. Some days its better and other days its worse but it is by far the most reliable daily ritual I have come up with and I am sticking with it.

That's why this haircut was so crazy. I just let a total stranger chop away at it with no regard to how far I have come. I must have really felt I needed this kind of a change. Also I'm just too exhausted from daily life to think too much about it. Its just less annoying to deal with.

Twin Guilt

I heard someone once say that parents of multiples are always trying to make things as "equal" as possible for their kids and usually end up failing and feeling guilty regardless of their efforts.

I felt that twin guilt from the day we brought the girls home from the hospital. I remember trying to feed both girls at the same time in those early days. I had figured out a way to give them both a bottle with Ilana in the bouncy seat and Orli across my lap, balanced on the My Breast Friend boppy. It was the best system I could figure out in that challenging time, but even then, I couldn't help feeling guilty that Orli was snuggled close to me, while Ilana was relegated to cold, bouncy seat. When I tried to mix it up, it invariably resulted in one, both or all three of us crying.

The twin guilt cloud came over me again as I looked back on this blog. I realized that I have featured Orli and her love for all things blue but haven't shared anything unique and personal about Ilana. Ilana is smart, hilarious, quirky and like none other. It's not like she needs me to advocate for her and I feel like a sympathy post would not do her justice.

So until I give her the equal blog time she deserves, I'll just post an adorable picture for now. At least that will keep things somewhat even.

Darin got the job. We are all excited that he has formal employment for the fall. Is it the exact perfect location and salary he was looking for? No...but I've told him to stop saying that to everyone. Its a job and its a good job and its going to be great.

A week at Lake of the Ozarks, Osage Beach, Missouri.

The girls did awesome on the car trip down. We arrived around 10:30 p.m. ish to a beautiful 4 bdrm, 3bath, 2 floor apartment. My brother and his family arrived around 4:30 a.m. after a much worse 20 hours of traveling.

The week (er 4 days) was great bonding and relaxing time for our family. Highlights include blowing bubbles on the patio, going up and down the elevator, frequenting the pool every afternoon, Big Surf Waterpark, and Bridal Cave. Oh and the nice man outside the cave who gave the girls fish food to feed the over sized carp. Oh, and the girls figuring out how to do a choo choo train down a slide. My brother's family is on a way different schedule than us so we usually took the mornings with the girls and spent the afternoons and dinner all together. The girls were OBSESSED with baby Mai.

The way home was a bit more stressful than the way there. We sort of broke Heather's portable DVD player.

Oh, and as for me and my brother - only one fight about our nation's health care system that resulted in me crying and locking myself in the bathroom. Pretty good for us.

Orli continues to prefer all things blue.