In which Owen may be a pusher, but he ain't no centaur.
So we'd been planning the trip to Chicago for awhile. An easy jaunt, we told ourselves-- a quick, cheap flight to see how Owen does with planes, trains and cabs.
We were more than a little daunted, then, when the week before we left he contracted the dreaded hand-foot-and-mouth disease.
And, before you ask, no, it's not hoof-and-mouth disease. Only horses get that. HFAM is some nastiness that spikes a boy's temperature to 105, plasters his mouth with sores and breaks him out in an ugly rash.
Fortunately, with a lot of grandparently attention and more than a little holding and rocking, he survived to make his big Memorial Day vacation.
He was fine, if a bit restless on the plane. Going, he wanted to walk. Coming home, he kept trying to kiss the woman in front of us. Thwarted in that, he amicably struck up a conversation with the man sitting next to us. Said man discovered it is impossible to ignore a nearly 2-year old who sticks his face an inch from yours and shouts, "HI!"
In between, we had a lovely time in the Windy City. Owen discovered that his convertible car seat / stroller could be adjusted so that the handles were neatly within his reach. He delightedly pushed the stroller all over the hotel and up and down the streets of Chi-town.
Ankles of the world, BEWARE! Our son is not the safest of drivers.
In the city, we enjoyed the new monuments of Millenium Park which include a giant metal bubble and some super-cool water sculptures. The latter feature vide of faces that squint and smirk before eventually puckering up and spitting water across the plaza.
Kids were lined up four deep waiting to get splashed. After some initial trepidation, Owen threw himself into the middle of it and wailed his head off when it was time to go.
That night, Mom let Dad sneak off to a showing of the Second City-- not to be missed when you're in town, but decidedly less fun when you're visiting solo. The next day, we packed up for King Tut.
The Boy King's tomb has been packed up and shipped across the country on tour. We plunked down our money and waited in horrific lines to see the treasures. As we wandered through the alternately dim and lighted rooms, Owen shouted "NIGHT! NIGHT!" or "WAKE UP!" respectively.
I'm not sure the other museum-goers were entertained. We ourselves might have been more amused if we hadn't had to check the stroller at the gate and carry our little docent through the tour.
Robin asked if I was disappointed in the exhibit.
"Did either of us see enough to judge," I asked.
"Probably not," she agreed.
We did get to see the new study of the mummy and the fascinating insights it gives us into how Tut died. Apparently he broke his knee and it became fatally infected. Had he lived, however, he would have suffered from some nastily impacted wisdom teeth.
After Tut, we made a beeline to see Sue, the largest fossilized Tyrannosaurus ever discovered. Sue's tail handily points to the museum chow shop where, after waiting in line for twenty minutes, Owen fell fast asleep.
Eager to take advantage of the opportunity, we ditched our cafeteria grub and high-tailed it across town to the Water Tower place to do some cheesy tourist shopping and have something unhealthy to eat.
I chose a lunch of chicken potpie in the slenderizing, "bigger than your head" size.
Owen woke up just in time to launch his cars at the other diners. The waiter came over immediately to take our drink orders.
"I have one of these at home," he said. "I figured you might need a cocktail with lunch."
It was a good trip.
