Playing Catch Up (Not Ketchup)

I know, I know. The good news is my darling friend Anita keeps me in check. Whenever it's been just a little tooooooo long in between posts she reminds me what I'm supposed to be doing in my five seconds of spare time. (Which reminds me -- Anita. Facebook. Seriously.)

So since my last post life has been slightly more hectic than normal, but that's like saying that today was 98 degrees instead of 96... really, what's the diff?

Eric and I took a mini break to Chicago (not related to this sentence, but so cute: Kile, upon first seeing the skyline on our drive in on 80 Friday night: "Look Cavanaugh! That's Chicago, it's Mommy's favorite because it's beautiful." Cavanaugh: "Ohhh, Kile, it's beuuuuuutiful!") for a summer wrap up/happy anniversary two weeks ago. We ditched, I mean carefully delivered, the two darlings to my parents so that we could enjoy a few Chicago evenings without our favorite tagalongs. We hung with Cara and Andrew, dined Cuban and something else which escapes me, ate turtle sundaes, played LOTS of Wii Bowling, enjoyed a superhero double feature at the Vic's Brew and View and slept as late as we wanted.

Tuesday we reclaimed our little people and headed into the heart of Chicago. Our first stop was at Marina City (also known as the corncob towers) to see the condo my parents are renovating. Following that, we hiked over to Millennium Park so Eric and the kids could see "The Bean." We then trooped over to the "spitting fountain" (which I'm sure has another name, but whatever, it's what it does) and played in the water for a while then headed back towards the Theater District (which Chicago didn't used to have, so I find it amusing) to the Broadway McDonald's. Clearly this was the highlight of the day! Actually, smart Mommy remembered there was an upstairs to this Micky D's, so we wandered up and spent nearly an hour reminding the kids to eat while they stared out the window at all of the traffic (and all of the flowers! Oh my goodness, I'm glad I don't have to pay taxes there, Mr. Daley, but wow, that city is beuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuutiful!). We reclaimed our car, said a silent prayer for a happy trip on Lakeshore drive and went to the Zoo. I was super impressed with how much better the zoo looks than it used to (though what's up with the polar bear?) and the kids absolutely loved it. We spent a good two hours and saw just about everything, though we did bypass the farm animals because, really, what's the point for us?? I think the day's favorite were the giraffes, if only because we could get so close to them. (Though we did love the new kids' area even if we didn't stay long.)

We scampered back around the swan boat pond and beat the meter maid to our car (only about 2 minutes over, but still!), picked up my car at Cara and Andrew's place and headed onto the Kennedy. At 6pm. On a Tuesday. During summer (aka, construction season in Chicago). Unbelievably, it only took us 45 minutes to get to our next destination, and that included Eric totally missing his exit and me hightailing it on Touhy to catch and redirect him, no small feat in rush hour traffic. (And yes, Iowa pals, 45 minutes is truly amazing, no traditional Trela sarcasm there.)

My favorite part of arriving at our next destination was Kile's reaction: (yelling... REALLY yelling) "Hey! Mommy! Mom! Those hot dogs!!! You have pictures of them!!!" as if it were a surprise to me that first, Superdawg did in fact exist, secondly, that I knew how to get there and thirdly, that we were actually turning into the parking lot.

Now I sort of digress, because it factors in later: While we were in line some poor soul was attempting to order a dog for what I assumed was his elderly mother. He asked for a bun without poppy seeds on it, and lots of ketchup. Everyone else in the place looked at him as if he were from another planet and several customers and I exchanged looks. Eric seemed oblivious, which only foreshadowed the disaster yet to come.

In Chicago, hotdogs come two ways -- with peppers or without. It's a poppy seed bun. That's it. There are onions and mustard and relish, usually an unnatural green color. Anything red in color is either the hotdog itself or random tomato slices. Ketchup and these dogs do not mix. Every Chicagoan knows this. (If you don't believe me... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chicago-style_hot_dog and http://www.chicagohamburger.com/html/royko7.htm) Cavanaugh had half of her hotdog in her mouth before Eric took his first bite, mine was (obviously) already gone. Kile was protesting that he didn't like hot dogs, a flat out baldfaced lie. (Hence Eric being behind in the eating, because he was trying to reason with Kile... silly Eric.) It was a big moment for me, first time taking Eric to my old stomping grounds, first Chicago hot dogs for the kids, vague reminiscences of high school hot dogs, and bonding with my oncologist over those magical neon dogs in the sky. I stared at dear husband waiting for that first bite and outwardly cringed when he took the ketchup packet out of the bag (there are, after all some tourists in Chicago who clearly don't know the rules). I looked around panicked, thinking my cover might be blown, but fortunately no one saw him. I hissed at him, "at least TRY it before you put the ketchup on it!" and since it was my big moment, he obliged (Cavanaugh, at this point, was totally covered in mustard and mint-green relish, but she's still eating. Kile is eating a pickle which looks like a hot dog, so we were ignoring him for the moment). Eric took a few bites, redirected Kile, talked to Cavie a bit, all the while I was sitting there waiting for a verdict. I was nervous -- What's wrong with our non-hot dog devouring son? Did the combination of Iowa genes with a Chicago girl's genes cause a hot dog hatred complex in one of our children? (Kile continued eating the pickle and eying his dog warily.) Is there a Punnet square that can show me the dominance or recessiveness of the Chicago hot dog gene? Shouldn't the Hot Dog gene beat out a Sweet Corn gene? Why was none of this covered in my high school genetics class? I mean, Cavanaugh was clearly ok, but she also eats dog food so I wasn't putting much stock in her taste.

Finally, while my head swims with visions of all of the nature vs. nurture scenarios, Kile succumbs to hunger and takes a bite of the hot dog. He simply (and rather anticlimactically) declares it the best one he's ever had. (Ok, some prompting from his mother there.) But what of the husband? The life partner, the one to whom I have pledged my everything? The stress, the anxiety, the FEAR of not knowing his reaction to my first true love... Did I throw away 9 years of my life on a non-Chicagoan? Eric, clearly not sensing my angst, calmly continued eating the dog, sans ketchup, without a single reaction visible in his face. Just when I couldn't bear the suspense any longer, he turned to me and said, "Hmm. I think I like Nathan's Famous better."

I'm contemplating filing divorce papers next week.

Carpe diem. -- Trela