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.

The Anarchist Says Grace

Despite many sessions in suburban Sunday School, or Splash Jam Awesome Rock Edge or whatever flashy name they're calling Sunday School nowadays, my children might be budding heathens. Sure, the Anarchist used to be a worked-up tent revival preacher, but that seems to have ended now, as evidenced by last night's attempt to say grace. We were at a friend's house, and it was announced that another friend was going to quickly say a prayer before eating. Now, my kids usually say the traditional Catholic "Bless us, oh Lord..." (at warp speed as they reach for the biscuits and butter) while at my parents' house, but our attempts to say grace before meals as a family have tapered off as our number of meals eaten together as a family have tapered off. So when the kids kept chattering, they had to be reminded that we are quiet during prayers. "That's okay!" announced the Anarchist (loudly), "We can keep talking, because we don't pray, anyway."

The Anarchist in church. Absorbing bits and
pieces to later patch together in heathen-y,
yet adorable ways.

Lovely. But it wasn't always that way. The Anarchist used to leap out of her seat in anticipation of being the one to "pray" before meals. And by pray, I mean have a lengthy and drawn out personal chat with the Creator of the Universe about her day, The Divine Holy One's almighty preference of cat breed, and whether the Alpha and Omega was a fan of pepperoni or cheese pizza. In fact, my little Anarchist used to have a lot to say to/about the All High, as evidenced by this little gem I unearthed while cleaning up my computer files. I think this was from last year. And it's pretty priceless:

An Anarchist's Prayer 

Now, let us have a prayer. God wanted someone to light the sky, but the sun was already doing that thing for Him. One day he went on a big cruise ship the Lord gived him. And one day Paul gave Him a guitar to play. And there were food and drinks on that boat, and they haved a good time. And then they came to their stop…the zoo. But it wasn’t really where they wanted to go. So they kept droving…it wasn’t the way to Los Angeles, but then they drove all the way to home…to Thanksgiving. 

Then there was a lot of rain. But when the rain was done, there was a lot of sunshining. So Paul and God went out together for a nice little meeting…with lots of music. It went like this [proceeds to play the piano]. So then they were confused about something that they did for Halloween Trick or Treat. They went for Halloween trick or treating, but something was wrong. So then Paul and God went out and got lollipops and Lifesavers. It was so fun! And they even got toys that were stuffed animals!  So they painted a picture for the Lord. And they sended it to Him. 

Then another God came, named Miss Hip Hop Teacher*. He was walking down the street and he said, “Hello! My name is Miss Hip Hop Teacher!”  The Lord was caming to each house to say “Hi!” and they got notes to take home. She put the Lord’s note in her special keeping box. The note was different than last year’s. It said “Bad news. Have a good day, because I’m not going to be there tomorrow.”

I hope you guys liked that Halloween Meeting. Have fun at the next meeting.

Amen.

*The Dictator's hip-hop teacher, whose name has been changed to kinda-sorta protect her identity

Okay, so maybe the Anarchist has always been a bit of a heathen. Halloween? The absence of God? Polytheism? An ark full of stuffed animals? But at least she used to be a heathen with adorable speech patterns. Maybe she just needs more time in Splash Jam Awesome Rock Edge so that she can master the art of the Evangelical prayer. She still doesn't use the word "just" nearly enough times to sound legit, yet. We'll have to get right on that. Because if she embarrasses us at one more dinner party, she might not get invited to God's next Halloween meeting. And that would just be too bad. Because then she might miss out on all those holy Lifesavers. And no. I doubt she meant "Lifesavers" metaphorically. 

The Dictator and the Anarchist Throw a Parade...of DEATH!

Yesterday, people everywhere celebrated Father's Day with backyard barbecues, festive downtown running races (that just sounds awful), dinners out, and  neckties. We encourage the Dictator and the Anarchist to be free thinkers, so they chose to celebrate Father's Day in their own unique way. While the fathers in the house passed out and drooled while watching golf on TV, and the ladies roamed the garden and discussed weddings like Edwardian Jane Austen characters, the Morton children were busy at work writing, cutting, constructing and choreographing a lovely parade to crown the Father's Day festivities. The Dictator and the Anarchist were so busy putting together the exciting event that they almost missed dessert. Adorable!

My father, the Leprechaun,
watches golf intently while the
Bureaucrat drools.

Now, the Dictator is practicing hard to someday become the successful ruler of a totalitarian regime, so not only was there going to be a parade, but attendance would be somewhat compulsory, as we were made aware by the numerous flyers posted in every square foot of the house.

 

Yeah, that's right. Or else.

While my mom explained to the Dictator that false advertising is cause for legal liability, the precious children handed out homemade cloth tickets and jumped up and down in eager anticipation. Ah, the innocent joys of childhood!

Thump. She totally didn't make me rich or famous.
False advertising. Thump.

 After being herded welcomed upstairs into the "parade" room, the delightful ceremonies began.  In the recesses of the sweet little bunk bed that my parents keep for the girls we could make out a well-constructed parade of Zhu-Zhu Pets and stuffed animals, replete with miniature floats and banners. How cute are my kids?!

An adorable parade...

And then, my young, sweet girls began their sweet little parade...of death.

A festively morbid banner.

"Have a fun time in hevan, Nugget!"
Apparently, you won't be missed.

We miss you. (We're pretending)

A painstakingly-crafted float.
Because we miss you...just not that much.

So, apparently, in a move vaguely reminiscent of exultant Munchkins at the death of the Wicked Witch, my children's toys staged a victorious parade in celebration of the untimely demise of one of their less lovable fellow-toys. Ding-dong, the hamster is dead, etc.

Dead Nugget on parade. With flowers. And blood spatter.

I don't know what atrocities a motorized hamster could have committed to invoke such an extreme response to its very existence and maybe I don't want to. I think that the larger question here is really this: why are my children being so darned creepy?

The Anarchist laughs in maniacal delight
after dropping an effigy (yes, effigy) of
the mean dead hamster in a fit of zeal.

So...happy Father's Day, Bureaucrat and Leprechaun (and Pastor Grandpa, who was mercifully spared this unholy terror...until now). Your (grand)children got you a dead hamster...on parade. You're welcome. 

Just remember as you are forced to watch this macabre spectacle, these are at least partially your creepy, creepy morbid genes at work in my adorable little girls. So...maybe this horrific Father's Day Parade of Death is your own fault. But you have to admit, it could be worse. They could have just bought you another necktie.

Not another necktie.