Every now and then we like to shake it up a little. Immerse ourselves in a different experience and celebrate the everyday. This winter we rugged up and spent a night in the windy city.
The kids are bursting with excitement before we even exit the carpark, each struggling under the weight of their own backpacks but standing tall with the responsibility. After a brief but serious talk about what to do with ‘tricky people’, the family emerges solemnly into the bright light of the afternoon.
We navigate past (what feels like) dozens of laneways and roads, barking orders to ‘STOP!’ each time. Eli busies himself with flossin’ every time we pause, and Hudson lopes back and forth into the path of strangers. Ivy just wants to be carted around and I’m very grateful that Dave ignored my short-sighted suggestion about leaving the pram behind.
Our apartment is on the ninth floor. Two entire walls are windows – gazing over bustling streets and construction zones, tiny pedestrians and sky scrapers. The mad race to decide who gets to claim each bed commences and all emerge remarkably unscathed. The music goes on and a dance party begins. We summon up our strength for our first assault.
We walk. Striding and stopping, exclamations and delight. A bookshop beckons and debates ensue about who gets which title. Strangers are friendly and open. It feels like a slice of heaven.
Dave mans the pram and I race ahead to keep pace with the two boys. Eventually he decides my haphazard way of keeping order is less than ideal and he firmly takes over, gripping each hand with purpose. A tree looms and Hudson debates which path to take around it. He ducks left, Dave tugs right and … WHAM! Hudson meets the tree head on. I take out the title of ‘World’s Most Unsympathetic Mother’ as I find it impossible to stop laughing for the next twenty minutes. Even as I type away right now the picture in my mind causes uncontrollable spurts of mirth. Poor Hudson. Thankfully he recovers quickly.
Then we stumble upon a cowering figure, hands formed in an endless prayer over an empty cup. The cynic within Dave and I want to shield the kids, but Eli forces us to stop. ‘I want to give him something, can I use my birthday money?’ We nod, not trusting ourselves to speak for fear of tearing up and he drops his offering quickly and returns. ‘I love homeless people!’ he declares loudly. ‘So do I!’ replies a young woman behind him who had just bought the man a meal. She has piercings in creative places, an asymmetrical punk hairstyle and yet they connect easily over their shared empathy. She nods with grave respect in our direction, attributing his goodwill to us, and I murmur our thanks, but I know the truth. It is Eli – the uncorrupted beauty of innocence and youth.
As we proceed Eli continues to search for the humbled figures, moving with speed and purpose each time. He is not bound by the mire of helplessness or the bored cynicism which we fall prey to as we age. He sees a need and strives to meet it with the little he has.
When we arrive at ACMI, it becomes impossible to keep track of their moving bodies. They bounce from exhibit to screen, from game console to interactive pod. It is, in one place, all of Hudson’s dreams come true. Harvey sleeps through it all.
We work up a big appetite and decide to repeat our dining experience of two years past – Vapiano. The quick-cooking style suits our family perfectly and it isn’t long before we are all tucking into woodfired pizza and fresh pasta.
With full bellies we make our way back, a little more chaotically as moods sour in proportion to dwindling energy. Thankfully, the scope of the outing means that all fall to sleep almost before their heads touch down, completely spent. Hudson lies on his side, requesting that we leave the blind open so that he can enter dreamland with the lights of the city before him.
The morning dawns bright and the kids begin to get dressed for the day. I search through Hudson’s bag – once, twice, three times. ‘Hudson, where are your clothes?’ I ask in exasperation. He shrugs. It turns out that he unpacked them before we left….replacing them with a blanket. Eventually we figure out a back up plan and head out for breakfast. Before we can even caffeinate, however, Eli – embarrassed at being told off for mucking around and darting before a moving car – strides away from the group. Dave doesn’t see and heads off the other way, I limp after him, Ivy at my side and unable to move more than a crawl with her tiny steps. We eventually reunite and passions subside, but it takes a while to get our groove back. A few coffees and pastries later, we call it a day – heading back to check-out and visit our delightful new nephew (and his beautiful mother) on the way home.
The jolt is worthwhile. It forces us to reexamine our existence from a different light. Patterns we adopt without thinking, habits that form our daily experience. We are heightened and aware of our surroundings, open and susceptible, appreciative and excited. When we re-enter the humble walls of our home, I glance around with gratitude for everything we call our own – the space and calm pace of our surrounds, the accumulation of toys and activities that divert each child. I wonder at how we have all been changed, by one night on the ninth floor.
