Introvert Bill of (Totally Reasonable) Rights

Lately, the internet has been overrun with helpful "How to Understand Your Introvert" memes. You know the ones. They usually feature a picture of a retiring individual pulling his/her head into the neck of a sweater like a tortoise in a shell. They contain introvert-related propaganda such as, "It's not our fault we don't want to spend time with you. Please just understand that we are way smarter than you so we have much more interesting things going on inside our brains than small talk with you could ever hope to compete with. Also, we are humble."

Introverts are profound. Not aloof. We're never aloof.
We're too amazing to be aloof. And also we are humble.

With all this introvert-awareness-raising going on, it almost seems as if there's a introvert-revolution afoot. I mean, when else would an entire people defined by its hesitancy to speak audibly suddenly find a soapbox and voice its assertion of rights unless...well...there's a change a-comin', my friends. The quietest 1/3 of the population apparently no longer wants to be ignored (unless they're burnt out, socially, and then you must ignore them).

I say "they," but of course I mean "we" (as much as any group of people who refuses to socialize even within itself can be considered "we"). I am a stark-raving introvert, as is my darling little Dictator, whose stock phrases include "I just want to be left ALONE!!!," "Not a hugger!" and "Don't TALK to me!!!" As an introvert myself, and an advocate for my precious offspring, I feel compelled to join the movement. The (super duper) silent minority is ready to overthrow the extrovert-dominant system of noisy oppression. Viva la Personal Bubble!

Thusly, I hereby present an List of Demands Introvert Bill of Rights for immediate adoption by the entire human race. Listen up. I'm only going to say this once (and then I'm locking myself in my quiet room to read Neil Gaiman for two days straight, and don't even think of calling/texting/knocking).

INTROVERT BILL OF RIGHTS

1) All introverts shall hereby be granted a five foot personal bubble that shall not be violated except  in cases of grave emergency (e.g., escaping large parties, fleeing overcrowded concerts, sharing an elevator in an attempt to leave a bar/club/room full of excited toddlers).

2) In cases where an introvert holds a service/public relations/sales/customer service/other job that deals with the public, said introvert shall be limited to a 20 hour work week, but shall be paid double what an extrovert working a similar position is paid. This measure is to compensate for the fact that when an extrovert leaves such a job for the day, the extrovert goes to the gym or the bar or a party. When an introvert leaves the same job for the day, the introvert goes comatose in a dark room, rocks in a fetal position while drooling, or searches out hard drugs to dull the pain.

3) Every introvert shall be granted one of those sweet turtle neck/hooded/hide-your-whole-head sweaters that keep showing up in all those introvert memes. Said sweaters shall be snuggly and amazing.

4) All terms previously used to define introverts--however true--shall no longer be used. Dorky shall become interesting. Eccentric shall become unique. Awkward shall become either charming or endearing. Instead of aloof, introverts shall be referred to as profound. Instead of standoffish, introverts are cautious. Instead of snobbish, introverts shall be called discriminating. And shy is humble. Oh so humble. The humblest.

5) Hereafter, any extrovert wishing to be "considerate" in the direction of an introvert is forbidden from providing unasked help, company, gifts, or hugs (unless the introvert wants a hug, in which case the extrovert must read the introvert's mind and provide a hug, for in no case will an introvert initiate a hug). The introvert definition of "considerate" shall be adopted in all cases pertaining to introverts and is as follows: Considerate is defined as being careful to avoid invading the introvert's thoughts/time/space with unasked help, company, gifts or hugs (unless mind reading has indicated that hugs are actually secretly desired).

6) No party or social occasion shall last for more than three hours. No more than 5% of party attendees shall be strangers, and only 10% may be casual acquaintances. No party may contain more than 10 guests. (Parties of exclusively extroverts are exempt from these restrictions). Introverts must be notified of parties and other social events at least 2 months in advance (to give introverts time to obsess about  get used to the idea). Parties shall be free from small talk. Snuggly-awesome turtleneck head-hiding sweaters are considered appropriate party attire.

7) Introvert parents shall be granted a minimum of three hours locked in a quiet room per parenting day without repercussions (except those to society, because you know those kids are going to be going all Lord of the Flies on you).

8) The inner thoughts of an introvert are sacred and shall not be violated. A glazed-over, daydreamy, zoned-out stare is indicative that an introvert is lost in glorious, glorious thought and shall not be disturbed. Introverts shall not be held legally responsible for any physical violence or destruction of property than ensues if said glorious thought is interrupted.

9) Plans for a nice day/evening out should reach a maximum at two events. For example, dinner and a movie. The eager exclamation of, "Hey guys! Let's go to a bar or seven!" after dinner and a movie is completely unacceptable.

10) An introvert is never required to answer the phone or to return phone calls. This is asking too much. Acceptable introvert communication may include: texting, limited emailing, subtle body language, knowing looks. Please consult with introvert to determine which method will not send him/her into a state of paralysis.

11) When asked of reluctant introverts, the answer to the (often rhetorical) question, "What are you waiting for, a personal invitation?" shall always be: Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes! And handwritten, if possible. Calligraphy would be nice, just so we know you're serious. However, the introvert should not be expected to RSVP, as this would cause far too much social exertion terror.

12) No conflict shall arise from the adoption of this Bill of Rights. Introverts totally hate conflict.

And also, you aren't allowed to think we hate you. We love you oh so much. We just have a terrible special way of showing it.

Okay. That's enough revolution for me. I'm going to go find a nice place to lose myself in my super-brilliant, highly-personal, oh-so-humble thoughts.

*pulls head to into sweater and ceases to acknowledge the rest of the world*

A Morton Family Guide to Navigating the Windy City with (Violently Ill) Children

It's the dead of summer. The children have cabin fever. You just want to get out. Everyone and their mom is heading "Up North" for a fun family weekend of clean, crisp air, towering pine trees, immaculate Great Lakes beaches, and wholesome, natural relaxation. So obviously, you don't want to do that. You would be such a follower. "Pure Michigan?" Psssht, whatever. Who needs Gwen Frostic, Petoskey Stones and Mackinac Island fudge (both kinds), when you can have feces-scented trains, endless walking and crowds of rabid museum goers? That's right, folks. I'm talking about Chicago. I know, I know. You've done Chicago before. You've taken the kids to see Sue at the Field Museum, snapped touristy photos at Millennium Park and drained next month's mortgage payment at the American Girl Place. Chicago's old news. So why not spice things up a bit? Why not go to Chicago, but this time do it up right.  This time, why not opt for a fully immersive urban experience and bring along a violently ill child? Like, I'm talking nastiest stomach virus ever. As in, coming out both ends...with reckless abandon. Take that American Girl Place!

A picturesque place to bring the
entire (sick) family.

 Naturally, the Morton's have experience with just such a vacations, so we've prepared a handful of helpful tips to help you to make the most of your family weekend (with a violently ill child) in Chicago. You're welcome.

1. Stay in the suburbs. You can get a fantastic hotel in Schaumburg for about a third of the price of a similar hotel in the city. Not only will you avoid the crowds, but your child will have plenty of commute time into the city in which to work up a really nice bout of nausea. Choose a hotel with a terrible view (ours was of the IKEA). That way, you won't be reminded of all the fun you aren't having. Bonus: you can use all the money you save to pay for your subsequent doctor's bills. 

The Anarchist and the Dictator enjoy
our room with a view...of IKEA.

2. Choose a hotel with the right amenities. If your child is violently ill, she probably won't give a hoot about the heated, saltwater indoor pool (but that might be a fun way to spread that nasty little virus). You will, however find that she has a new-found concern for the softness of her pillows, the availability of complementary plastic laundry bags, the presence of a mini-fridge in which to store the electrolyte water, and access to child-friendly cable channels (although we found that the Weather Channel was okay in a pinch). You will be glad you chose a hotel with a coffee shop and a bar onsite. The Bureaucrat had a fun little run-in with a particularly chatty drunk man in our swanky hotel bar one night while the rest of us slept like (sick little) babies. Nothing like meeting new people to keep vacations fresh!

3. Take advantage of public transportation. Why risk getting vomit all over your own car when you can take the train into town? The combination of fecal-scented seats and lurching/swaying cars is sure to churn your child's already fragile stomach. Let her work it out on the Blue Line and not in your second-hand Saturn. They have people to clean that up, right?

On the train, keep your kids entertained with a rousing game of
"Don't Lose Your Lunch"

4. Take a stroll. Chicago neighborhoods are full of tons of culture. Bust out your running shoes and take to the streets to immerse yourself in all the sights, sounds, and smells of the city. Try getting off the train a few stops before the one closest to your destination. That way you can explore local parks and landmarks really over-exert your weak and nauseated child. Try a photo op at Millennium Park with your ailing family member, and then work up a sweat yourself as you haul your hot, whining child a bajillion and one blocks and up a massive flight of stairs to the Field Museum. Just be sure to save money for physical therapy when you get home! You're going to need it.

5. Be mindful of the time-change. (And then promptly ignore it). If you're a Michigander, you're in for a time-change when you head to Illinois. We found that our children tended to wear out quickly near the end of the day and needed to recharge a lot sooner, especially since the Dictator was so unwell. We handled this situation beautifully by heading to dinner especially late. We recommend you do the same. Choose a nice deep-dish pizza joint for authentic pie and be prepared for a substantial wait as your pizza bakes--about 45 minutes. Don't bother ordering for your kids. They'll fall asleep on the table before the server brings that second round of garlic bread...which is perfect. After all, kids are expensive, and the sick one shouldn't be eating anyway. Plus, you've just bought yourself an entire two hours of blessed whine-free adult conversation time...and a whole extra basket of garlic bread.

6. Hit up the mall. Yes. That mall. The one with the American Girl Place that will eat your soul, your life-savings (if you have any), and your parental dignity. Because otherwise, you don't love your children. Be advised that your sick child will not seem to appreciate this trip nearly as much as she should. Note her ashen-faced blank stare as her doll's hair is detangled for an exorbitant fee, the unresponsive stance she takes as she forces you to buy that stuffed pet cat that costs more than a real, live, prize-winning pure bred Persian. Understand that she can't help her lack of gratitude. She is violently ill, after all. Just know that she really is thankful. And that she's well-aware of how well her sickly state is working in her favor. Poor baby, you think to yourself as you write a check that could have covered her private college tuition, maybe this hundred dollar plastic replica of a chunk of cheese will cheer her up. No? Still frowning? Poor baby. I know, have a five-hundred-dollar photo shoot with your doll. Your pretty green face and glazed-over eyes really capture the spirit of our trip!

Even sick kids will smile when you buy
them their weight in fancy toys.

7. Bring friends. What's the fun of a violently ill vacation if you can't share it with friends? Be sure they're childless. That way, they'll get an exciting glimpse into all the fun of traveling with sick kids, and you'll have a couple extra sets of helping hands to carry vomit-soaked children, dispose of barf-bags and babysit while you and the spouse sneak out to the indoor, heated, saltwater pool or to the skeazy hotel bar full of chatty drunk guys. We didn't take nearly enough advantage of our childless vacation friends. Maybe because they were smart enough to make themselves scarce as soon as we let them know that we had desecrated the museum with nasty chunks of kid puke.

What you will have to do if you don't
make your childless friends carry
your kids for you.

8. Get an education. Chicago is full of fantastic cultural opportunities. From aquariums to planetariums, there are any number of exciting places for your children to learn and vomit. Don't expect to get to them all. Sick kids have a surprising lack of stamina. Instead select your favorite one or two museums and really take time to take in the best exhibits. Don't save the best for last, otherwise you might never make it. Chances are, you'll get asked to leave once your kid manages to be sick all over the Ancient Egypt exhibit. 

The Anarchist recommends the jade
exhibit. She likes jade an unreasonable
amount. Like, we had to physically carry
her out of that place.

9. Make time for photo ops. You'll want to treasure the memories of your adventurous time in the city. Wouldn't Sue the Dinosaur look extra special covered in a layer of your kiddo's projectile vomit? That would be a backdrop to remember! Or find a nice piece of fine art at the Art Institute of Chicago with a color scheme that really complements your child's sickly green complexion. Or why not try documenting the places where you spent most of your time on your trip, like the museum bathrooms, for example? This will make for unique and memorable photos of your family time together.

The Dictator got sick right next to the narwhal exhibit. 

10. Be social. There's nothing people in the city like more than knowing that they are trapped in close proximity to an incredibly nauseated child. Be sure to communicate. We found that our museum/hotel elevator-mates were very responsive to the Anarchist's joyful announcement that, "The Dictator is really sick, but we won't get it unless we touch her throw-up, right?" Really responsive.

11. Make it your own. Every family (of sick people) is different. And every family vacation (with sick kids) should be different. Tailor your family vacation to your sick family. Maybe you want to take your little sicko swimming. That's okay. That's what chlorine is for, right?  Or maybe the American Girl Place just isn't for you. Don't worry. I'm sure your sick child can guilt you into spending unreasonable amounts of money at the Lego Store or any number of other fun locations. Not interested in Millennium Park? What about a nice trip to Navy Pier to ride that giant Ferris Wheel. I wonder what would happen if vomit fell from the top of that thing...d'ya think it would fall with enough velocity to kill someone? Why not find out? And no one says you're restricted to the Field Museum or the Art Institute. I hear that Shedd Aquarium is a very nice place to have lunch lose your lunch. The possibilities are endless. Go out there and create the family vacation that's right for you and your queasy offspring. You won't regret it.*

*Or maybe you will.**

**Yeah. You totally will.***

***But not because of Chicago. Chicago is awesome. I love that place. Even the trains. I love the trains. You'll regret it because sick kids make terrible travel companions. I mean, they're just awful. Plus they're heavy. And they're miserable. And they don't like it when you have to throw out their favorite cardigans at the museum because the cardigans are covered in vomit and you have nothing to carry them home on the train in. They really hate that. Poor things.****

****Also, it turns out the healthy siblings aren't that much fun either. As in, "you don't like me as much as you like her because you're cleaning up her vomit instead of doting on me so I'm actually jealous of her vomit and now refuse to enjoy any part of this vacation" unfun.*****

*****On second thought, just find someone to watch your kids and spend a romantic weekend alone. Just avoid that chatty guy at the hotel bar. He will totally compromise your whole evening. Seriously.