My irregular musings on city life, politics, baseball, roller derby, and whatever happens to be getting my goat today.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010


Wednesday again already?

If I were the sort of person who blogged regularly instead of the sort who works all the time like a dog, I would have gotten online last week and blogged about last Wednesday. I would have written about how I had an unpaid day off thanks to the city budget crisis, and how I kept my 3 year old son out of day care for the day.

I would have told you how we rode downtown on Mommy's train, and stayed on the train for a couple stops after she got off to go to work, and how we got off the train at Roosevelt Road. I would have written about carrying my son on my shoulders through to Grant Park, and setting him down to run free by the headless statues once we got to the grass. I would have told you about carrying him over the bridge over the Metra Electric tracks, about how I told him the trains were powered by electricity and he was able to explain that back to me later. About how he told me the shiny silver and orange train was coming FROM Indiana, not going TO Indiana, and he was right. I would have told you about visiting the robot dinosaurs at the Field Museum, about how he was fascinated for a magical 20 minutes by the triceratops hatchlings, about running around the nature walk telling me the flamingos weren't flamingos with a grin on his face. I would write about how we got a banana muffin and a mango frozen lemonade and how he said "we call it lemonade but actually it's mostly called ice." About watching the people with the bright orange signs that said CAROL on one side and TURN AROUND on the other, about how they held them up as Carol's boyfriend crept up behind her by Sue the Tyrannasaurus skeleton to propose to her, about how we saw the geeky happy couple later by the other dinosaur bones. I would write about how my son pushed the button again and again to hear the funny voice say "triceratops horridus." I would tell you about the guy in the Tyrannasaur costume, my son called him "the roaring guy" and wouldn't go up to touch the rubber skin. "He'll eat me" he said.

I would tell you about getting hot dogs from a hot dog stand (his plain, mine a Polish with everything), and about the kids with the identical red t shirts milling around, and about rolling down the hill. I would talk about walking back across the bridge and seeing the yellow train car with the crane on top that my son christened Harvey.

I would definitely tell you about how he brought the yellow duckie watering can along the whole trip and carried it like a work bag, and how on the way up Michigan Avenue he set the duckie on the seat next to him and sat there seriously, leaving me to stand next to him in the aisle. I would tell you about visiting my wife's office, about my son telling everyone "I saw baby triceratops. I saw some that haven't hatched yet" to everyone's amazement.

I would tell you about getting our feet wet in the fountain with the spitting faces, and about my son doing a belly flop in the half inch deep water and soaking his clothes. I would write about the mean guard on the sculpture garden roof of the Art Institute's Modern Wing and how he wouldn't allow me to carry my son on my shoulders or stand him on the ledge buy the windows, forcing us to leave or allow him to run around and touch the art made out of jet engines. I would discuss how it was silly art but they were cool engines.

And I would write about how we took the Brown Line to the Red Line home, and how my train-crazy son later told me his favorite part of the day was getting to change trains.

But I'm not the type of person who blogs regularly anymore, because I am too much of a perfectionist and I have too little time. So this is what you get. The sky was brilliant blue, and the trains were running on time, and a little boy saw baby dinosaurs, some of which hadn't hatched yet.