Author: Sheila Quirke

My husband left for a four day business trip today.  That always makes me feel reflective and anxious — I imagine him not coming home, that some terrible destiny awaits him in Oklahoma or Nevada or Minnesota or wherever his travels take him.  I imagine life without him, how empty and sad and terribly, terribly alone I would feel.  I imagine our sons growing up without their father, that greatest sort of man who knows how to parent a child.

BAH!

Then I shake myself out of it, get the kiddos some breakfast and start thinking about the day, the week ahead.  As I pulled the blankets back this morning, I saw this:

Our wedding sheets are toast.  Done.  Finito, which is accurate, as they are Italian sheets, a gift from my sister on our wedding.  They were fine and fancy sheets — much fancier than I ever would have splurged on for myself.  I am straddled with too much practicality to fully enjoy luxurious things.  I’m a little bit like my Mom.  When she was gifted something really nice, it would somehow find its way onto a shelf in the linen closet.  Too fancy for her to use in everyday life.  Ugh.  I never understood that as a kid and to know that I am like that as an adult makes me a wee bit sad. So, yes, those fine and fancy sheets made their way onto a shelf in my linen closet.

Maybe two or three years into our marriage I pulled them out.  I don’t even remember why.  I think I had grown weary of the lavender sandpaper sheets we had registered for at the Bed Bath & Beyond.  Certainly, thank goodness, our color scheme had changed.  Well, I washed those bright white sheets and put them on our bed, not thinking too much about it until bedtime.  Then, well, KABLAMMO!

Sleeping on those fine Italian sheets was like nothing I had ever experienced.  They were divine.  Cool and silky, slippery almost.  The simile I used at the time was Cool Whip, cause that’s what they reminded me of, though a lot less sticky and pumped with chemicals.

How had cotton never felt this way before, I wondered.

We have used the hell out of those sheets, clearly.  The days it was time to take them off and throw in the wash I would sigh and the days they reappeared on the bed with the next wash cycle I would cheer, knowing I would sleep very well that night.  Those sheets never lost their Cool Whip feeling and only got softer with each washing.  A perfect weave of softness and generosity, as they always reminded me of my sister.

When they thinned a bit too much, I went sheet shopping.  I think I opted for JLO sheets from Kohl’s.  My sister would be ashamed of me.  Those sheets have been perfectly servicable, certainly better than the lavender sandpaper, but never quite the same.  Then there were the chocolate brown sheets I bought to match the wall when we painted it.

Slowly, those lovely Italian wedding sheets dropped out of rotation.

A few weeks ago, the last time the sheets were changed (don’t judge), I noticed they were back.  I asked my husband and he said he could’t find the other sheets.  Yep, somehow they never found their way upstairs after the last wash (again, don’t judge).  I was so happy to see those wedding sheets — it had been a while.  It was like meeting an old friend for a drink. I noticed a small hole near where my foot would be and my husband reminded me that hole had been there a while.  I had forgotten.

Well, a few weeks later again and now that small hole has morphed into irreparable damage.  Those sheets are gone.  Done.  Finito.  I shot the photo of them this morning in the midst of my reflective/anxious, “My husband is leaving and I might never see him again!” moment.  I told him what I was doing and that I was going to write a blog post about the wedding sheets.  I patted myself on the back for capturing the massive tear, but not the period stains about ten inches north.  “Be grateful I’m not putting my period stains in the photo — who wants to see those?,” I asked rhetorically.  “Some dude on the Internet,” my husband answered factually.

And we laughed.

My wedding sheets are gone, but my marriage remains.  A lot of marriages don’t make it past the tears in the sheets.  We’ve been lucky. Luckier still when you see the stats for marriages that have crashed after the death of a child.  We love and we laugh and we comfort and we worry and we support together.

I will miss those sheets, and for the next few days I will miss my husband. When he comes home, there will be fresh sheets on the bed.  Not as lovely, not as luxurious, not as Cool Whippy, but clean and sturdy.  And that’s okay.  Those sheets were wonderful to us and I thoroughly enjoyed them, and while they may have ensured we will never be okay with sleeping on sandpaper sheets again, we will probably, too, never sleep on Cool Whip luxury sheets either.

Most likely, we’ll be somewhere in the middle of comfort and luxury, together.

This post is part of The Social Butterfly Mom‘s Validate Thy Neighbor series — an awesome and amazing campaign by a fellow ChicagoNow blogger.  #vtn is a way of using empathy to better understand people who have made different choices or have disagreements, by writing a post that embraces a choice or practice you yourself have not made.  Brilliant!  Bloggers, if you’re interested in taking part in this truly cool idea, email her at thesocialbutterflymom@gmail.com.

Today the lovely and amazing Erin from South of I-80 and I are tackling the age old question of city v. suburbs.  As I city dweller, I will be championing the suburbs, and as a suburban mom, Erin will be touting the benefits of city living.  I am thrilled to be paired with Erin, as she is funny, smart, and adorable.

In 1992, I moved out of my folks’ suburban home, my childhood home, and into the BIG CITY – Chicago!  I’ve never lived anywhere else.  That first day, so proud and happy, I remember treating my family out to lunch as a thank you for helping me move.  We took a couple of booths and were a happy bunch.  When we got up to leave, I noticed my treasured super cute pea coat was gone.  Vanished.  Stolen.

Welcome to the Big City, little girl!

I learned a lesson that day, but honestly, I’ve never regretted one moment of my life as an urban dweller.  My husband and I are committed to raising our family here in the midst of America’s third largest city (but biggest in heart, yo).  The same city that drew my four immigrant grandparents to seek their own American dream almost a century ago.  I do not believe I will ever leave.

But still, this post is titled “Suburban Bliss.” I’m no urban snob.  Well, okay, sometimes, but not always.  I can see and appreciate and find value in those things the suburbs offer that Chicago, or any city, has a hard time matching.  Here are a few of my favorite things about the suburbs, but, sshhhhh, don’t tell my husband.  He’ll worry.

Schools.  Next year, our oldest boy will start kindergarten.  We’ve been forking over the cash for a suburban private school for two years now, resigned to invest heavily in his early childhood education, but are hoping he tests into one of Chicago’s selective enrollment spots for K-8.  Cause when you live in the city, your education plan consists of hoping for smart kids and that the luck of the Irish will shine upon you.

Yards.  Our back yard consists of a paved parking pad and an alley, our front yard is not much larger than a postage stamp.  That saves us a lot of time in the lawn maintenance department, but doesn’t lend itself to lots of fun for the younger set.  When our boy visits friends and families in the suburbs, he always marvels that they have a park behind their home.  And get this – my cousin built an ice rink in his yard this winter.  A little PVC tubing and some ninja tactics and they’ve got a winter wonderland right outside their door.     

Cheap(er) Gas.  I might be committed to living in the city, but I’m not stupid.  Ain’t no way I would ever pony up for gas at a city station.  Nope.  Pfffft.

Ranch Homes.  So the suburbs really came into their own with the post-war boom of home loans and babies.  When you travel around to different areas of Chicago, there are great swaths of developments that came to be in the 1950s.  Oh, how I love that era.  It’s got so much more style than today’s McMansions.  Sadly, my dream home would never exist in the city, as the footprint of your basic mid-century ranch has no relevance in an urban location.  Yep, the only place I could call something like this my own would be the suburbs.  But a mom blogger can admire from a far and dream, or you know, the modern version of dream, pin!

Park Districts.  We absolutely take advantage of our local park, which happens to be one of Chicago’s “destination” parks, meaning lots of folks drive in from other neighborhoods to enjoy what it has to offer.  I think, though, that the suburbs pretty consistently put their money where their mouths are regarding parks and recreation.  I sort of drool when I take an online spin around surrounding suburbs’ web pages and their programming for the wee set.  It was a revelation when I learned last year that I, too, city carpet bagger that I am, could sign up my very own kid for camps and such.  Score one for city living, suburbs sampling!

Bakeries.  Of course cities have bakeries, but they’ve dwindled in recent years.  Most folks I know get their baked goods at the Jewel or Mariano’s.  That’s fine, but it’s not good, and big grocery stores can’t make an adequate donut to save their lives.  I can still remember Saturday morning donuts from Jansma’s Bakery when I was a kid.  My favorites now are Spunky Dunkers in Palatine and Bennison’s in Evanston.

Malls.  Yeah, the suburbs got this one sewn up, lock, stock, and Crate and Barrel.  When I’m feeling blue and want to be alone, but out (you know what I mean, right?), the place I love to head is the mall.  Doesn’t even really matter which mall.  In the warm months I prefer Old Orchard, as it was made by the same developer that made “the mall I grew up in,” River Oaks.  In the Polar Vortex months, walking the baby in a mall is the only place I can take him out in a stroller.  Malls are familiar, comfortable, welcoming, and if you throw in dinner and a movie, well, you’ve got yourself a day.

So there it is in black and white. I live in the city, but dig the suburbs.  True story.

See, those two environments are not mutually exclusive.  Different families have different values and folks tend to put their money down on what matters most to them.  For some, that’s schools.  For others, it’s real estate or affordable housing.  For us, it’s culture and diversity.  Now that doesn’t mean that the suburbs are devoid of culture and diversity, just as it doesn’t mean that all city neighborhoods lack proper schools or middle class housing.

It does mean that folks everywhere pick and choose how to live their lives.  We live in Chicago, yes, but take great advantage of the suburbs.  We shop and dine and educate our kids there.  Just like, I hope, suburban dwellers take advantage of Chicago’s musuems, lake front, and ethnic neighborhoods.  That, my friends, regardless of where you live, is what we call a win-win.

You can read South of I-80’s take on city life by clicking here.