Matthew and I flew back east this weekend for a whirlwind trip - to see our dearest friends Mary Ellen and Jeff get married. The wedding was beautiful - I was honored to be a part of the wedding and right before we got upstairs I got a case of the panics! I was as nervous as if I were the one getting married - all of which I think would have been a lot better had I been able to attend the rehearsal dinner. I was pushing my luck as it was, though, by leaving when I did. I took half day off of work to make it at all - this is what happens when you burn through all of your sick and vacation time for the year.

Thank you, everyone responsible for creating AND maintaining the stupidity of the FMLA. I am insanely glad for the meager benefits, but insanely jealous, in some ways, of my Canadian neighbors.

Anyway.

The wedding was beautiful. Mary Ellen was radiant and her smile was so infectious. Jeff was grinning from ear to ear, when he wasn’t choking up at the vows. Me, I should have brought a tissue - I cried when Mary Ellen walked down the aisle! I also got my glasses all wet because for some reason my contacts felt like they were on fire so I didn’t wear them. The reception was lovely and the staff was wonderful too.

Brief interlude now on momming.

I have never, not once, encountered a single negative person with regards to my nursing Matthew in public. Today at the reception, toward the end, Matthew needed to feed, so I fed him. Jeff’s sister did the same with Otis, her 14 month old son. I have now probably spoken too soon, but it is remarkably nice to nurse Matthew in peace - be it at home or at an airport, a wedding reception, a restaurant or a bookstore.

End momming interlude.

I really enjoy living in Chicago, and this weekend at home proves it, I think. At the very least, I love living in a big city, I love public transportation, and I love the general bustle I feel that comes from living with 3 million neighbors. Today, the driving we did solidified my desire to never own a car again. Agh.

The one thing I can’t stand about Chicago, though, is (besides the winters, the smelly El cars (see above, public transportation? I am never satisfied!), and alley honkers) that it has the third largest Starbucks market in the country - only New York and Los Angeles have more Starbucks. Now, this is unsurprising, considering Chicago is the third largest city.

The problem with this is that I loathe Starbucks’ coffee. It is burnt-tasting, too pretentious, and there are too damn many options. I am a Dunkin’ Donuts girl through and through. I stop at my local Dunks on the way to work and the guy behind the counter, a counter never as busy as the Starbucks next door, says, “Decaf with cream and splenda, right?” I like the donuts, I like how simple and uncluttered by crap my Dunks is. All Dunks are like that - nice and no frills.

Would you believe, in my travels back to Connecticut, that even counting the Providence airport, I have YET to see a Starbucks? New England loves its Dunkin’ Donuts. You know how in some cities, you can go to the lobby 5 feet away, across the street, down the block and in a kiosk in the basement and find Starbucks at every single site? That’s how it is in New England with Dunkin’ Donuts. They’re in gas stations. They’re in standalone stores. They’re a part of grocery stores. They’re in Wal*Marts. They’re everywhere. That sweet, sweet decaf coffee, splendafied, everywhere you turn.

Ah, Dunks. The one real sign, I think, that I’m home.