I am not a tourist

...but going downtown makes me happy. Today was a Football Sunday, which meant The Dad took The Boy, The Girl, and The Tot out to the suburbs to watch the Bears' game and play with their cousins. I had the afternoon to myself. So I did what I used to love doing in the days before I had children: I went shopping.

I took the bus eastward and transferred to the Red Line. Rode the Red Line down to Chicago Avenue. The Dad bought me an iPod Nano last year for my birthday, but I use it so infrequently that I didn't have it charged. Also, I must confess that after listening to non-stop chatter whenever I go anywhere with my children, it's nice to listen to the regular city sounds of the bus, the train, etc. when I am using public transportation. I suppose if I still commuted everyday, I'd want to shut out the sounds of the world and listen to music or audio books, but for as rare as a solo trip on the bus/L is for me these days, I am just as content to do the Trib's Sunday crossword puzzle during the 1 hour trip from my house to 900 North Michigan Avenue.

Although I had been feeling under-the-weather this weekend, the 4-block walk to my destination was envigorating. I love Chicago all the time, but it was especially beautiful today with the warm, sunny weather and fall foilage. There were tourists pushing strollers, peaceful demonstrators handing out pamphlets about Palestine and Israel, suburban moms with big hair and shopping bags, and impatient hipsters in low-top Cons and skinny jeans.

My destination within the Bloomies building was this store; with my nursing days nearly behind me, I'm ready for a change. Ten minutes and $200 later, I was ready for lunch. I browsed in Williams-Sonoma for a bit (I'm lusting after the 3.5-qt Le Creuset dutch oven), got a not-very-good, overpriced sandwich from the coffee bar on the first floor, and walked across the street to Water Tower Place.

I hadn't realized that American Girl Place had moved from its old digs on Chicago Avenue to the northwest corner of WTP. It was cute to see all the girls and their dolls. I've never been inside the store, but I've heard that it's crazy inside. When The Girl was a baby, I was dreading the inevitable trip to AG to buy a doll and have tea. Now that she's getting closer to the age when I might get her a doll, I think it might be fun to take her to AG on a weekday outside of the holiday season.

When I was in junior high school, WTP felt like the destination along the Mag Mile. Back then, there weren't as many flagship stores and there certainly weren't as many shopping centers along Michigan Avenue as there are now. I remember when getting safari t-shirts at Banana Republic was all the rage; the store is still in the same space -- all airy and modern with signs announcing its 30th anniversary. When I looked at it, I could see a closed-in space with fake palm trees and bush props from 20 years ago in my mind's eye. The rest of WTP looks the same as it did in 1988 (all chrome and glass and glare).

As part of my self-improvement day, I went to Sephora to pretty up my face. I have never been a make-up girl, although I've made various essays over the years. Another random memory: going to the Estee Lauder counter at Marshall Field's on State Street when I was 13 or so. I ended up with a 4-product combination that I think I can get on my face every morning, and left a happy, tired woman.

I stopped at the world's stuffiest Starbucks on Chicago Avenue for an iced tea on the way back to the L. I took the more direct route home: the Red Line to Washington to the Blue Line and back home.

Redemption

The Baby's mood -- and mine along with it -- improved after a nap (for him) and lunch. But The Boy and The Girl were cantankerous, so we had to get out of the house. I called my friend Becky, and she invited us over to play. I took advantage of the nice weather to take the bus over to her house. It took about 40 minutes (the longest part was walking to and from the bus stops) and was a nice little adventure for the afternoon. The Girl asked at every stop whether that one was "our" stop.

The trip back was a bit more arduous, as we were all hungry (stopped for milks for the kids and a tall decaf latte for me at Starbucks on the walk to the bus stop), tired, and cold. I carried The Baby in the sling and pushed The Girl in our lightweight stroller. We all had a good time and got out of the house, which is really all that matters.

Metra

Today, while The Girl enjoyed her last day of "school," I took The Boy and The Baby on the Metra downtown to have lunch with The Dad. We checked out The Dad's swank new (to him) offices in the Chicago Mercantile Exchange building. It made me giggle to see The Dad in khaki shorts and a polo shirt amidst a sea of men in gorgeous dark suits.

Unfortunately, we left The Dad's office too late to get an outside table at Rivers (which was filled with gigantic tables populated primarily by men wearing a sea of white, pink, and blue starched oxford shirts), so we went to Potbelly instead (also crowded). The Baby ate an entire dill pickle. We didn't have enough time to head east before our train, so The Dad took us to the Boeing store to browse around. I got The Boy a bunch of books on flying and airplanes in anticipation of our trip.

On Foot

After taking The Boy to school and Jamming with Julie, I dropped The Great White Moose off at Purr-fect at 11 a.m. this morning for a reluctant (on their part) detail job. And then spent the rest of the day without wheels.

On the walk home, we stopped at McDonald's for lunch at The Girl's request. Once home, we spent the rest of the afternoon puttering and getting ready for my Lia Sophia party-that-wasn't. The Girl's friend Charlotte came over for a bit while her mom ran a few errands and then picked up The Boy from school and brought him home. They hung out for awhile, which was nice.

By 5 p.m., the humidity that had been building all day turned into threatening thunderstorms. A semi-truck rammed into a bus station, half my guestlist had canceled due to illness, and my co-host was stuck in traffic. With those odds, what is a mama to do? Cancel the party.

By 7:30 p.m., the weather was awful. Four of my neighbors came over to drink wine with me anyway. All mothers, we talked about schools, real estate, childcare, and the neighborhood. It was a great time.

Mommy-Girl Playdate

Today, The Girl and I attempted to go on a "Mama-The Girl Playdate," as The Girl calls them. While The Dad, The Boy, and The Baby went to Home Depot with the car, The Girl and I hopped the bus (and then got on another bus, and then walked) to the Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum. Unfortunately, we missed the last entry by seven minutes, but we had a great time anyway. We talked about who we were going to invite to The Girl's 3rd birthday party, and what we were going to serve for food at this event, and other little things. I have to say, The Girl took not getting into the museum fairly well (although we did have the "why is it closed?" conversation about 15 times and I also promised to take her on an open day next week).

As consolation, we stopped to get a snack (pink ice-cream for The Girl, a red velvet cupcake and 1/2 a ham sandwich [which The Girl, who didn't want any real food when we ordered, promptly devoured] for me) at the Bourgeois Pig on Fullerton. The place was full of students, 60somethings, and various singletons with laptops; I had a moment of clarity while in the cafe: it seems that I am always going to places with the kids where I am the only mother-on-duty and the kids are the only children in the place. Hrm. After our snack, The Girl and I took a different route home, hopping on the Belmont bus and then the L.

Cultural Check-Up

Today, I enjoyed a rare treat: going to the Hopper/Homer exhibit at the Art Institute, without the kids. And with an art historian (her specialty is the Italian Renaissance, but no matter), so it was like, nay better than, having my own docent. We spent quite a long time wandering around the exhibit, and we skipped the Homer rooms entirely. Like many Chicagoans, I have always loved Nighthawks; it's starkness and unfinished conversation are just so compelling. But until the show, I never really saw much of Hopper's other works. I found it interesting that he really manipulated the angle to make buildings look much more desolate than they (perhaps?) really were. I found myself drawn to many of the architectural paintings he did during his summers in Gloucester, Maine, and Cape Cod.

Afterwards, my friend and I walked up Michigan Avenue a bit to Starbuck's, where we each had a drink and chatted for a long time about work, school, pregnancy, her children, Chicago, and Texas. The Blue Line is finally running at regular speed, so I got home in about 1/2 an hour.

And where was everyone else while I enjoyed a cultural check-up at the 'Toot? In Uptown. With their uncle, who we call Uncle Bad. I've decided it's short for Uncle Bad Influence, as they all came home acting like it was funny to see how many times they could slip the word "butthole" into conversation. But anyway...they did have a good time. The Baby took a long nap in his stroller. The Boy and The Girl went to the park and ate ice cream with Uncle Bad and The Dad. Although The Boy reported that they did not have a "crazy dance party," a signature Uncle Bad activity during football game playdates.