A warm, sunny Sunday after Thanksgiving led my small family to Millennium Park, which is sandwiched between the old residential area of Michigan Avenue and the lake of same name.
The kids – and more importantly my wife – had a splendid time exploring the park. The kids stared at their reflections at Cloud Gate, which to me looks like a giant silver ass. We ate homemade sandwiches, explored the whacky Frank Gehry band shell and serpentine Bicentennial Plaza Bridge, and watched ice skaters glide on by at the open-air rink.
Rentals are $7 and the rink is free to use, but we passed because everyone was getting tired. It is a big park.
By the time we walked to the huge Christmas tree at city hall, Lael was asleep in her stroller. My wife tried to explain the nativity scene to our increasingly Jewish (gulp) boy, who sings the Hebrew alphabet as if it was the newest, hippest song ever.
Seth forgot all that when he saw the two Christmas trains chugging around two concentric tracks. We let him watch the trains a good long time to avoid a repeat of the meltdown he had in Vegas.
After a stop at my work, my wife drove Lael home, and I took Seth via the Red Line, which is a subway downtown and Elevated by the time we reach our stop.
It was a nice way to close the Thanksgiving weekend.
A warm, sunny Sunday after Thanksgiving led my small family to Millennium Park, which is sandwiched between the old residential area of Michigan Avenue and the lake of same name.
The kids – and more importantly my wife – had a splendid time exploring the park. The kids stared at their reflections at Cloud Gate, which to me looks like a giant silver ass. We ate homemade sandwiches, explored the whacky Frank Gehry band shell and serpentine Bicentennial Plaza Bridge, and watched ice skaters glide on by at the open-air rink.
Rentals are $7 and the rink is free to use, but we passed because everyone was getting tired. It is a big park.
By the time we walked to the huge Christmas tree at city hall, Lael was asleep in her stroller. My wife tried to explain the nativity scene to our increasingly Jewish (gulp) boy, who sings the Hebrew alphabet as if it was the newest, hippest song ever.
Seth forgot all that when he saw the two Christmas trains chugging around two concentric tracks. We let him watch the trains a good long time to avoid a repeat of the meltdown he had in Vegas.
After a stop at my work, my wife drove Lael home, and I took Seth via the Red Line, which is a subway downtown and Elevated by the time we reach our stop.
It was a nice way to close the Thanksgiving weekend.