Several weeks ago, Bob and I had our first weekend away with no children since having children more than 11 years ago. For the past few years, I've been trading one night/year watching my dear friend T's children (she has three also). I took a night in the winter, and she took one in the summer. T and I each celebrated our 20th wedding anniversaries last year (and we were in each other's wedding), and we recalled our lofty plans for this event. T was going to be on an Alaskan cruise. I was going to be in Hawaii. Kids and life got in the way (and thank goodness for that, right? RIGHT?!), so I suggested instead we do the next best thing and take each other's kids for the whole weekend. So, on St. Patrick's day weekend, Bob and I had 48 blissful child free hours to ourselves.
Our plan was to head to Chicago shortly after taking the children to school; however, a runaway doggie ("Doh!" said in my best Homer voice) delayed us briefly. After we ran through the neighborhood and captured him, we set off. It was a very leisurely weekend, loosely planned, and perfect. We had a hotel in the heart of the action - on the Chicago River, with Navy Pier in view. We initially planned on parking on the outskirts of Chicago and using mass transportation to get around the city, but we decided to just keep our car with us. So glad we did! Turns out we drove a lot, and it was so nice to have the convenience of our car.
We went to a couple of architectural salvage places. We stopped by some interesting shops. We did the walking tour of Frank Lloyd Wright's designed houses in Oak Park (something I've been wanting to do for years). We went to Ikea. We ordered room service. We slept in. We got a diet coke at McDonalds whenever we wanted to. We talked without interruption. We sat quietly without interruption. We ate at non-child friendly places (and ordered exactly what we wanted). We did another tour (this one by car, to save time) of the Gold Coast area of downtown Chicago.
Although I had gotten some guide books from the library, the couple that I grabbed to bring along didn't have decent driving maps of Chicago. I couldn't find our Chicago map in our glove box either. We just managed our way around by using a subway map, a bit of instinct (tracking planes in the sky, looking to see which way the sun was setting, remembering names of streets from when I used to listen to Chicago radio WGN's traffic reports), and a lot of luck. And, at one point, I pulled out the US map, though that didn't do much but make us laugh at the absurdity of our situation. Bob trusted my inner Magellen, my inner Lewis and Clark, and we did great.
We decided to drive through town, instead of taking the tollway, from Ikea back to our hotel room. This drive took us probably a couple of hours, but it was fascinating. We drove through some ethnic neighborhoods - so much to look at! We drove past Wrigley Field. We saw tons and tons of very drunk young adults (turns out St. Patrick's day in Chicago is kind of a big thing).
Throughout the weekend, I said several times, "so this is what 'living in Chicago' looks like." I've never been able to picture what the neighborhoods looked like for normal people who lived in Chicago - not the high rise condos on the lake or the planned developments in the suburbs. Reminded me a lot of the residential neighborhoods in Milwaukee.
The only bad part of the weekend was when we received a phone call on Friday night from my dear friend T who reported that One hurt his arm while walking in the woods. "I don't think it's broken," T said. I had to stop myself from packing up and heading home right then. I told myself (and Bob reminded me) that the kids were in excellent hands. I checked with One via text here and there throughout the weekend, and he reported it hurt, but was ok. When we returned to Madison to pick up the kids, I could tell his arm didn't look good. It was still swollen and he was protectively holding it and not using it. One and I went to urgent care, and sure enough, it was broken. First broken bone in the family, and it happened when I wasn't here. Do I still feel some guilt? Yes indeed, but I think I'm the only one who's bothered by it.
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Tomorrow is Easter, and we are going to my parents' house, as we do every Easter. We will celebrate with my cousins, uncle, and my brother and his family, as we do every Easter. It will be a pleasant day, and I look forward to spending some time with my family. We will miss those who aren't with us - because of death or long-distance. I treasure our tradition. My mom asked me to bring a "hot vegetable dish" and I struggled to come up with something that didn't include soup. I plan to make a black bean tart, and I suppose I should get going on it now.
Happy Easter to you all!
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