Chicago: just another foreign country

We've just returned from a 3-day stay in a foriegn land less than 3 miles from our house: the home of our daughter, son-in-law, and three grandchildren. In many ways, it was exactly like a visit to a different country.

First of all, there is the time difference. Although their home is officially in the same time zone as ours, there was a definite jet-lag quality, with the usual sleep disruptions, to our days there. I got up at 4 AM to give the baby her pacifier; ditto at 5 AM; a bottle (milk, for the baby, although a bottle of something harder might have helped me sleep) at 6 AM; at 6:20 the 4-year-old crawled into bed with me; at 6:45 I had to get up to take a shower because the 6-year-old would be up by 7 and his carpool would arrive at 8.

Then there was the language barrier. It turns out that a 14-month-old child has a language of very few words (approximately three, in this case) and since two of those words have specific meanings ("bobby" for "pacifier"--don't ask--and "hi"--self-explanatory), the remaining word, "Meh-meh" by default refers to everything else. We spent the entire 3 days trying to figure out what this little person was saying to us, the same way I attempted to communicate with taxi drivers on a trip to Paris last year. I knew just about as many words in French as I do in Baby, and thus had pretty much the same results. Oh, and she also knows a sign-language sign which means "more." But good luck figuring out what she wants more OF.

Then, of course, as there are in any foreign place, there are the unfamiliar foods. I usually have a pretty good idea of what all of those foil-wrapped items in my own refrigerator are. Or at least what they used to be, several weeks ago when I put them in there and then ignored them. But other people's leftovers are a mystery. My daughter's leftovers were actually only a day old, and she's a terrific cook, so I wasn't dealing with weird or moldy stuff; it's just that I don't know her recipes or even her ingredients, so some things are just different; even familiar things taste different in someone else's house. And they come in different and unfamiliar packaging: in Europe, it's the 8-ounce cans of Coke; at my daughter's house, it's the sippy cups. (My daughter has her own sippy cup--at least that's what the kids call her travel coffee mug.

Finally, there are the strange customs of the youth who live in this place. Do they always leave the water running in the bathroom sink after they brush their teeth, so that when I go upstairs to put the baby down for her nap three hours later, it's still running? Is it customary to take off your pajamas and stand naked in front of the picture window in the living room while getting dressed? And is it a normal dining convention to methodically and purposely drop all of your grapes, crackers, and pieces of cheese on the floor, and then sit on the floor and eat them?

All in all, was an interesting visit. As susual, we returned home tired, and eager to get back to our normal routines. But we are already looking forward to our next stay--because what made this place really special was the fact that the "natives," in spite of their strange customs, are extremely friendly and affectionate, and I think they really want us to come back!