A Bunny Dies and a Family Ventures to the City

Wow, what a weekend. Really, when I reflect on all that we did and experienced, I get tired and want to take a nap. And since it's 10:30 at night, I should probably scratch that plan and head to bed. But not before I give you a quick recap.

Friday, July 24th

My dad was turning 67 (Haha! Get it, Dad? That was a joke.) and we were all gathering at my parents' house that evening for the birthday dinner. But before we could make it over, Stephen had to put together a bike trailer so that the two of us could ride our bikes with kids in tow to the party. While we were out in the backyard fiddling with tools (on Steve's part) and slopping buckets of water all over the patio (on the boys' parts), Jack and Baylor found a dead scarab beetle. Many pronouncements of "BUG" were made, and Baylor nibbled the beetle. You know, just to see what it tasted like.

While all of this was going on, a poor, tired rabbit was suffering quietly, if not convulsively, near our garage, just a few feet from where Stephen was working. Initially we were all excited to have a rabbit so close, but we became concerned when it allowed us to get within two feet. If you had been there at the time, you would have heard a conversation along these lines:

Christine: "Okay. The bunny doesn't look so good. Let's step away." [Mom ushers children away from potentially disturbing scene. Children are oblivious, leaving their parents to worry about the rabbit.]
Christine: "Stephen, look at him. What is he doing?" [Note: The rabbit was, in fact, twitching and panting in a labored, rhythmic sort of way. Also, its eyes were strangely unfocused, like it wasn't even aware we were there.]
Stephen: "Oh, wow. He's foaming at the mouth."
Christine: "Oh, geez." [Stephen shooes the bunny away with a broom. The rabbit halfheartedly hops a few feet before settling next to the peony bush.]
Stephen: "I think you should call animal control."

Just so you know, our county animal control is not listed in any place I could find in the phone book. Nowhere. Not in the front, in the yellow pages, in the business white pages, in the residential white pages, under various names, nowhere. I had to jump through several hoops to get them, and even then they wanted me to call a county extension for permission to remove a wild animal. The supervisor there said I would have to pay for its removal, as it wasn't a dog or cat. Here follows my conversation with him:

Christine: "Oh, no. I'm not paying for that thing. I'll just let it die and we'll throw it in the woods or our neighbor's garbage."
Supervisor: "Now if it were on a terrace or a street or something..."
Christine: "It's in the alley."
Supervisor: "It is? And you're in the city limits?"
Christine: "Yes. It's just at the end of our driveway, right at the alley."
Supervisor: "So what you're telling me is that it's in the alley." [Insert almost audible *wink*wink.]
Christine: "Um. Yes. It's definitely in the alley."
Supervisor: "Okay, well that's no problem. I'll give animal control clearance to pick it up."

At this point I'll resume the conversation between Stephen and me:

Christine: "You better make sure that rabbit is in the alley, otherwise we'll have to pay for it."
Stephen: "Okay, but I'll need a shovel."
Christine: "What, you mean it collapsed?"
Stephen: "Yeah, but first it shuddered a little. And then it collapsed."
Christine: "Oh, wow." [As you can see, we're very city.]
Stephen, after moving the rabbit INTO THE ALLEY with a shovel: "I'm pretty sure it's dead. It had flies on its eyes, and I think if it were alive it wouldn't let that happen."
Christine: "Oh, yuck."

The boys were completely unfazed by any of this, for which I am truly grateful. The bunny was there, and then, as soon as their attention was directed elsewhere, the bunny instantly left their minds. I know in another year or so we may have Animal Attachment Disorder on our hands, at which point I seriously hope that no dying bunnies decide to wander onto our property to give us all a firsthand glimpse of the Circle of Life. I just don't know if I can handle the trauma.

I was worried no one would come pick up the not-so-slowly rotting carcass, but by the time we got back from the party, it was gone. And lest you think the suffering rabbit completely overshadowed my dad's birthday celebration, I'll have you know that once we arrived at my parents' house, exhausted from the bike ride that featured not one but two screaming children in bicycle trailers, the bunny went out of our own minds and we were able to celebrate all of Dad's 88 years.

Or was it 89?

Saturday, July 25th

At the beginning of the summer, the Chicago Tribune published a large listing of various summer activities in the city and its surrounding suburbs. My mother held onto this publication mainly because of the promise of the Newberry Library annual book fair. None of us can resist a good used books sale, and this one promised to be a doozy with 100,000 books and rock bottom prices. The sale was in full swing on Saturday, so we sucked it up and undertook the affair that is Getting the Cases to the Big City.

Wait, you would just drive, would you? Easy enough to just drive there, right? Okay, fine. Go for it. If you have 28 quarters to pay for a 2-hour slot at a meter, then more power to you. (Seriously, I'm not exaggerating. Chicago privatized its meters to plug budget holes.) And if you have upwards of $35 for a full day of parking in a garage, then be my guest. Drive. I sincerely hope the cab drivers are kind to you as you navigate the insanity of Chicago's downtown streets. I for one count it a loss if I haven't been honked at and have honked at no less than 3 drivers.

We normal people without 28 quarters who like our blood pressure nice and low, thankyouverymuch, like to take the Metra into Chicago, and this takes some doing, as the southern line doesn't go quite so far as our very southern suburb. We have to plan very carefully to make our train while leaving room for a 40 minute carride to the station, with minimal downtime, as I don't think station officials take too kindly to energetic toddlers playing on the tracks while their weary parents collapse on a nearby bench and say, "Well, at least they're occupied." Stephen and I are both very much Type A personalities, and until we are happily settled in our train car, we are snarly, crabby, and just generally very unpleasant. None of this is helped by Baylor saying, "Uh-oh, shoe. Uh-oh, shoe. Uh-oh, shoe." 650,000 times on the way to the station.

Once we are safely ensconced in our seats, Stephen works to keep the boys occupied for an hour-long train ride (yes, this way takes longer, but you see, we don't have to navigate Chicago in car.) while I curb Charlotte and wonder if I forgot anything. I got the snacks, the drinks, the money, the diapers, the wipes, the crayons, the coloring books, the toys, the strollers, the bags for our purchased books, the jackets, the phone, the keys, the train ticket, the directions. Plus my children are clothed, I brushed my teeth, and I think Stephen remembered deodorant this morning. Yep, we're good to go.

(I should mention here that we definitely had help on the way up this time. My sister, her husband, and their visiting friend all came up with us on the train, so we were by no means exhausted from the offset. Now how we felt by the end of the day is a completely different story.)

When we finally reached the end of the line (I'm sorry I keep switching tenses, but it's just that kind of a story), we made our way to the library, which was over a mile away. We had an absolutely perfect day (80 degrees, sunny, with a breeze), so the rest of our trip was heaven. We attended the book fair, where we each snagged a few books, ate hot dogs and root beer from an outdoors vendor, played in an active downtown park, visited a Whole Foods for the first time (I said we were city, but what I really meant is that we're country.), and just generally enjoyed walking and drinking in the sights. Stephen, the kids, and I were on our own after the book fair, and we managed to make it home unscathed, if not incrediby tired and a little sunburned.

That night we had sushi and I drank some of the world's best beer. Plus I read Imzadi, the cheesiest but hands-down best Star Trek novel ever. Life is good.

And that's where I'll close. I could fill you in on our Sunday, which was full of church, fellowship with good friends, more bike rides, a visit to the park, an evening at Gamma and Pa's house, and a viewing of The Music Man, but your head might explode from all the activity that our little bustling family manages to cram into one weekend. Plus now it's almost midnight, and I have things to do in the morning that require some sleep occuring tonight.

Let me know what you did with your weekend. I like hearing how everyone is spending their waning summer days.