Harebrained Idea(s)

Yesterday, the monotony of the week had taken its toll; I was ready for adventure.  Pat was headed downtown for a meeting and I asked if we could drive him.  I never say, "Poor Pat" - I never need to because my mother always does (she is the exact opposite of the typical definition of a mother-in-law with him in that I am pretty sure the blood line she shares with me has been obliterated by her adoration of my husband), but I will say "Poor Pat" just this once because I saw his eyes as he cancelled out the vision of a quiet ride to himself into the city and back again and replaced it with what actually happened: two kids talking and singing loudly in the back seat while he intermittently replied to emails and I drove.

I needed to see something new.  Actually, just as I sat down to write this, I started to go through my phone to see what pictures I took of our adventure yesterday.  As I scanned through, I noticed a theme: I could trace my weeks through the pictures.  The week starts with pictures of the kids inside and outside, finding fun any which way.

Then, more things like this appear.

Finally, pictures from a new location show up.

End of Week 1:
Charlie on a hike in the woods

End of Week 2:
At a farm - this place is 10 minutes from our house!

End of Week 3:
At the lake

By the end of the week, I just cannot stand to be around my wonderful, little town anymore.  I have to get out.

Yesterday, we drove Pat downtown and then headed to Hyde Park and the University of Chicago to visit my mom at work.  I love seeing different.

One of the things I really miss from my life before having young kids is being able to just go.  When I get this longing for adventure, I still go, but it's so flipping slow.  And if I rush it?  Well, then the feeling of adventure just turns into a feeling of defeat and anger at how things turn out because I never win when I rush them.  It is one of the great truths of parenthood: You will always lose if you rush them.

So we amble along where I would otherwise like to move more quickly.  I do less but I see more with them at my side.

Not really interested in the Business School, but definitely interested in his reflection.

I kissed Pat good-bye when we dropped him off at his fancy restaurant.  With our packed lunches in the car, I drove away and yelled to him: "I might live to regret this, but at least I'm living!"

Just as he shut the door after kissing Rosie on the head, I was pretty sure that the "live to regret this" part would be all that I remembered once I got home because Rose cried from North Michigan Avenue to Hyde Park because her daddy didn't take her out of the car with him (and maybe she knew that our lunch wasn't going to be as special as his).

But, once we made it there, and had lunch in the car while the three of us sat in the front seat outside of Rockfeller Chapel (we couldn't make a picnic outside because my kids were hungry... you eat wherever when your kids are hungry), I felt like I was living.  I also felt a little crazy, but definitely alive and in the moment... Guess those are the bonus feelings to being crazy.

We walked around and met my mom.  Charlie played at a new park.

And then I pretended that they would take a late afternoon nap on the car ride home.

Pat finished up working and took a cab so that he could drive home with us - a move I am sure that he regretted as we sat in traffic with two kids who didn't feel the need to nap.  Each of us, I believe, silently thought of how much better it would be to be in the coffin that is a Yakima rack on top of the car rather than riding in the looney bin that our children create in the car.  But we said nothing to each other.

Well, I spoke.

I said, "Thanks, this was fun for me."