I hate summer

It's time for my annual rant about how I hate summer. 

I hate summer.

Why? 

First, it's hot. I am pale-skinned, pale-eyed, pale-haired. I can feel my skin burning in the sun and the heat. I don't feel endorphin-induced euphoria from running around in the sun or relaxing on the beach. I can "lay out" for a grand total of 10 minutes before I flee for the shade. When I was a kid, my mother never sent me to the park district's day camp. I always thought it was because (a) she never remembered the registration date or (b) she didn't work and didn't need the day care element of day camp, but now I wonder if it's because she knew I would come home complaining of a day spent in the sun.

Second, and more importantly, like those economically disadvantaged children discussed in study after study, article after article, I experience brain drain. I feel myself getting stupider by the day as my brain melts out my mouth with the heat and humidity of an archetypical July day in Chicago. 

This is, of course, hyperbole. The very fact that I am writing this post, reading articles like these, and plowing through my stack of both non-fiction books and novels suggests that I remain engaged in the process of learning even through the dog days of summer. 

But it seems a lot harder to do anything in summer. My countdown to the first day of school (30 days, by the way) usually begins on the first week of summer vacation, as my tendency toward free-range parenting kicks me in the ass when I realize that my summer plans for my children of playdates and pool have been dashed by that over which I have no control: day camp, vacations, and the weather.

It's July 26th and I am out of ideas. I cannot seem to muster the kind of "isn't this great?!" cheerleading that seems to accompany most child-centered activities. A few months ago, I read a book on organizational psychology called Drive, by Daniel Pink. Pink's theory is that individuals are most motivated by doing things that are intrinsically satisfying rather than "incentivizing" individuals to perform certain tasks. Modern parenting, it seems to me, is one giant game of carrot-and-stick. One that I am not particularly interested in playing today. 

Riding the Rails

a/k/a Spring Break, Day 1.

A week off from school, a sunny day, nowhere to be, and nothing we had to see...a perfect afternoon for a make-your-own adventure! The Boy, The Girl, The Tot (Who's Not), and I set out this afternoon to see what's at the end of the Skokie Swift line. 

Skokie, of course. An aging, heavily immigrant, heavily Jewish population make this 'burb an interesting destination for our fairly young, fairly gentile, fairly bland party of four. As a nearly native South(side) Suburbaner, I never really had the occasion during my own childhood to visit Skokie, and cannot reliably remember doing so until The Dad and I moved to the northwest side in 2002. Outside of the occasional trip to Old Orchard or the Pita Inn, I've never really explored this village. Truth be told, this visit was not significantly different, although we took the CTA and walked the mile between the train depot and the now-defunct Ice Cream Shoppe along Dempster. And back. 

This gave us lots of time in the village, and walking gave us lots of opportunities to observe the little things as we walked. What we did explore was a mile-long stretch of Dempster Avenue, the inside of a Walgreen's, and the Village Market. I wanted to go to Scandinavian Designs, just adjacent to the Village Market, but The Boy was unyielding on this point. 

It's a long trip between our house and our day's destination: the 80 bus to the red line to the yellow line. Thank goodness that's not a commute I must make daily; it took over 90 minutes in one direction. The trip was not very exciting, although there were tears when we discovered the Ice Cream Shoppe had shuttered. But I find that trips like these are a good way for us to unplug as a family, relate to each other, and enjoy the ride. The Boy and The Girl had a long chat about learning the recorder. The Boy and The Tot conspired to buy The Girl a present for her upcoming birthday. And The Girl impressed us all with her ability to blow bubbles with a stick of Juicy Fruit. All in all, a good start to the week.

Spring Break in Seattle

Last week was The Boy's and The Girl's spring break from school. We had been planning to visit Grandma and Grandpa Texas in Houston for our annual escape-from-Chicago-winter trip, but Uncle Chris's new baby was baptized on Easter Saturday, so we headed to the Emerald City instead, leaving The Dad at home to work.

Apparently, as anyone who reads this blog already knows, I am a brave soul to take 3 children on a 4-hour plane trip by myself. Especially because, unfortunately, The Tot woke up on the morning of our trip in a crib full of sick. The Dad and I discussed leaving The Tot at home with The Dad, but ultimately decided that he'd be happier with me. He slept most of Tuesday, both on and off the plane, but rallied on Wednesday. Unfortunately, he got sick again on Thursday, and woke up on Friday morning screaming. I took him to see the folks at Wallingford Pediatrics, around the corner from our flat, on Friday morning, and they very kindly squeezed a sick out-of-towner walk-in into their schedule. The doctor we saw, Dr. Hadley, was wonderful with The Tot, getting on the floor to do the exam and waiting until he warmed up to her to let her do the diagnostic checks she needed to perform. I was very impressed, even The Tot's regular peds are not that good. As it turns out, he had a viral bug and no ear infection, and was just crabby from feeling crummy. Unfortunately, he later passed his bug onto Grandma Texas.

Because Uncle Chris still lives in a vertical 2-bedroom apartment, and because the thought of 3 kids in a hotel room gives Mama fits, we stayed in a little apartment in nearby Wallingford. So cute! After we settled in to the apartment, we walked up to Wallingford Center for cupcakes (and a latte for me) at Trophy, and then down to the park to enjoy the rare (so they tell me) warm, sunny day. Only in Seattle would you see a mom nonchalantly nursing a 3-year-old in a public park; Chicago is not nearly that crunchy.

More after the jump.
Uncle Chris picked us up for dinner; we joined Aunt J. and Baby N. at Ivar's Seafood on the pier. It was too cold by then to eat our fish-and-chips outside, but we took The Boy, The Girl, and The Tot down to the drive-in pier to see the boats. The Boy wasn't "so sure about this." And The Girl kept disappearing among the tables on the patio, which made my heart flutter, especially as there had been an attempted child abduction at Pike Place Market only a day earlier.

Grandma Texas arrived on Tuesday night. She had rented a car, so she drove us all down to Pike Place Market on Wednesday morning. I had given each of the kids some spending money, and The Girl was especially excited at the thought of spending it at Pike Place Market. The Boy had regaled her with tales of the market from his trip last year. They both bought stuffed snakes and Seattle market t-shirts. I talked to pottery vendors about the art of throwing while admiring their work and drooled over the beautiful produce. We had lunch at 3 Sisters cafe (The Boy complained), and got mini donuts and lattes at the Daily Dozen. Then we met my old friend Valerie at Seattle Center, where there was an indoor carnival of sorts. The Boy and The Girl tired themselves out on the various bouncy castles ($15 for 2 all-access wristbands? priceless), got twisty balloon shapes, and The Girl got her face painted as well. The Tot took a naplet while Valerie and I talked. We visited Uncle Chris and Aunt J. at their apartment for dinner.

On Thursday, we took the ferry to Bainbridge Island, and drove the 11 miles down the road to Poulsbo, a seaside village with Scandinavian roots. We stopped for pastry at Sluy's Bakery, spent an hour looking at and buying used kids' books at the Book Stop, and had the best mac & cheese in town at MorMor's Bistro.

Our adventure for Friday was to Mecca: the flagship Nordstrom, where we had lunch at the loudest Nordstrom Cafe I've ever been to, and bought The Girl and The Tot shoes. Afterward, we headed out toward the airport to visit the Museum of Flight. Both The Girl and The Tot fell asleep in the car and while The Girl slept for awhile with me in the car when we arrived, The Tot woke up and wanted to go with Grandma Texas and The Boy into the museum. At the museum, we checked out the Blackbird and other amazing planes, made the hot air balloon go up, and test piloted a mini Blue Angel plane. All of the museum's docents were men in their early 60s, wearing khaki pants, blue buttondown shirts and navy blue blazers; an entire docent staff of retired enginerds. For the record, I am very thankful for those enginerds, but it made me chuckle nonetheless.

At the end of the day, Grandpa Texas arrived from his 6-hour flight from Connecticut, and we went to dinner with him, Grandma Texas, and Uncle Chris. Aunt J. and Baby N. stayed at home to work on projects. We ate flat-bread pizzas at the cavernous Bella Terra. The Girl, a normally adventurous eater, does not like pizza, but still managed to try several pieces. Afterwards, Uncle Chris chased The Boy, The Girl, and The Tot around the lawns of Lincoln High School.

Life's a Beach

Thanks to the generosity of my mom's best friend, who loaned us her "cottage" for the length of our stay, our family just returned from a 4-day lake vacation in Michigan. It was heavenly. This cottage is a 3-bedroom house in the woods about 1/2 mile from Weko Beach -- the house is bigger than our Chicago Foursquare and decorated in a unique combination of painted shabby chic-vintage and original 60s and 70s Danish modern, with comfy couches and tons of magazines. No TV, no Internet, no phone. It's perfect. If I could afford a lake cottage, it would look like that. We read books, napped, played in the sand, body surfed (The Boy and The Dad), ate ice cream, grilled out, made s'mores, visited picturesque South Haven, and generally took it easy.