Rahm Emanuel & My Boyfriend from "House"

So here's how this went down.  I was sadly mourning the end of one of my favorite television shows, House, and bidding farewell to one of my favorite fantasy boyfriends actors, Jesse Spencer.  The adorable little Australian was the main reason I kept watching House even after it jumped the shark several seasons ago with a host of cast changes and far-fetched story lines.

With the help of the internet, I discovered that Jesse was going to be on a new show this fall - Chicago Fire.

My first thought was "oh no...here we go." I would be subjected to hours of my husband complaining about all the technical inaccuracies portrayed in NBC's version of firefighting.

"It's called 'suspension of disbelief,'" I remind Joe each and every time we watch a fire-related movie or show.

"It's called 'a load of crap,'" my husband counters.

In addition to the normal Hollywood attempts to make a fire more exciting than it already is, there is also the Chicago "oops" factor.  This happens when actors are shown driving the wrong direction on Lake Shore Drive when they're supposed to be heading into downtown.  Or when they frantically yell out an address:

"We need to get to 1500 East Monroe NOW!"

My husband just rolls his eyes and mutters:

"Good thing they're driving directly into Lake Michigan.  Should have no problem putting out the fire there.  Plenty of water.  Dumb asses."

Regardless, I had to check out the trailers and was delighted to see Jesse not only looking cute as a button, but talking "American."  No accent.  I can see that Emmy now.

I found several clips of the new series, but then I nearly dropped dead when I spotted Chicago mayor Rahm Emanuel:

View more videos at: http://nbcchicago.com.

It's not every day you see the President's former Chief of Staff and current mayor appearing on network television.

And it's not every day that you see the guy at the heart of heated and ugly union contract negotiations appearing on a show about the exact guys with whom he's doing battle.

I'll leave the comment section open to discussion about the politics of the situation, but I'm just really happy Jesse Spencer is going to be back on t.v. 

Because I just can't think about that other stuff right now.  Not when I've got all this laundry to do.

Have you ever heard how hard it is to get the smell of smoke out of clothes? 

Totally true.

A Fire at The Magic!

The urgent text message came across in ALL CAPS on my friend's phone while we were out with the girls for a birthday dinner. Another group of mutual friends were sharing cocktails elsewhere, but they still got the dispatch to us courtesy of modern technology and iPhones:

THE MAGIC IS ON FIRE!!!

The Magic!  One of Joe's favorite restaurants!  The place my kids think of as the place to go for a home-cooked meal (see tab on Joe's Favorite Restaurants).  The horror!

Thankfully, the nearest fire house is about 2 blocks away and nobody was hurt.  I believe firmly that the responding firefighters treated the restaurant with extra care and caution.  The place is an institution here in Beverly. 

I headed over to The Magic with Jack (who wanted to verify with his own two eyes that the place was still standing) today.  I ran into the owner who told me they have every intention of re-opening as soon as all the paperwork and insurance stuff goes through.  Jack smiled, relieved.

In times of such duress, I was forced to embrace my standard method of coping. 

I signed Danny up for cello lessons.

Because we all heal in our own way.  Mine usually involves adding new instruments to the kids' repertoire. 

Portrait of An Artist

I never thought I'd live to see the day where my husband would be erecting a mini-Picasso with my son.  Yet it happened.  Read all about it in today's Chicago Parent Magazine.

Chicago Police Supt. Says it All

The emotion that Chicago Police Supt. Garry McCarthy  displayed at 2:02 of this video pretty much sums up my own feelings on some of the poorly-raised NATO protesters this weekend. 

If I had been the naughty protesters' mother, I would be so ashamed. 

And I'd be looking into military school. 

Or one very long time-out.

View more videos at: http://nbcchicago.com.

Stupid Stupid NATO

Please consider sending some extra thoughts and prayers to all the police, fire, and emergency personnel (including Joe) who will be working NATO this weekend.

This stuff puts me in a very bad mood.
 

Sticking to My Guns

According to recent media reports, there is an unsettling increase in the number of organized militia groups throughout the U.S.  What this trend reveals about the state of our union is troublesome. 

But then I wondered what exactly constitutes a militia member.  Because if you look at my boys' impressive arsenal of automatic weapons and handguns, I'm fairly certain we would qualify:

There are automatics, semi-automatics, and handguns.  One of our newest additions is the Nerf Vortex Lumitron Blaster which glows in the dark.  Because nothing says family fun like having illuminated Nerf discs smacking you upside the head as you sit in the dark trying to catch up on Smash (great show by the way).  Our vast empire of Super Soakers (currently occupying half the garage) only further confirms our status as militant extremists.  I'm sure the FBI already has a file on us.

The fact is, I never intended to allow my boys to have toy guns.  Even though I come from a long line of law enforcement people, I didn't want to help glamorize violence.  But when Danny got his first Nerf gun a few years ago, I couldn't deny the obvious:

This sh*t is fun.

Our family engages in full-out battles of skill and luck with our Nerf weaponry.  The kids try to hit the moving ceiling fan for target practice.  They have come up with so many creative spins on "cops and robbers" that I don't dare ban the practice now.

It's all just another example of how parents lose some of that rigidity as the kids grow.  Flexibility is so important in raising children.  And it certainly comes in handy when you're diving behind the coffee table as Danny unloads an entire magazine on your jiggly arse.