Brunk Children’s Museum of Immigration: A Chicago Spotlight

Hidden behind the clean-lined and somewhat inconspicuous exterior of Andersonville’s Swedish American Museum lies one of Chicago’s best kid gems: the Brunk Children’s Museum of Immigration.

By now, my inner Swedophile has made herself known a few times on this blog, but it bears repeating that I’ve yet to come across something related to the Scandinavian country that I didn’t love. Even though we’re more than four thousand miles away from Stockholm, this counts as yet another one of those things.

Before I take you on my tour, I’d like to note something shameful. I actually only visited this beautiful children’s museum to do just that, and failed to tour the rest of the Swedish American Museum. One of these days, I’ll move beyond the lobby, the gift store, and the top floor to meander through the rest of the exhibits. I’m sure I’d love them, too.

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[Source]

Having been on our Chicago bucket list for some time, Baby Bear and I were thrilled when a friend invited us to a group play date at the children’s museum. As a bonus, it was on one of the museum’s free days (the second Tuesday of each month, as noted below).

Upon entering, we were met by one of the friendliest museum employees I’ve yet to encounter. As we sat comfortably in the foyer chairs next to the ornate Viking ship (which  entranced the babe) and waited for others in our party, she happily provided us with information about the museum. She also asked how we all knew each other and commented on how she is still in touch with women from her own mom and baby group from several decades ago. By the time we finally went upstairs, I felt like we were buds. In my experience, you don’t get that kind of sincere customer service from many museums in the city.

Despite it being a free day, I was extremely pleasantly surprised to learn that the children’s museum wasn’t crowded in the least. At most, I saw only about a dozen people, including babies. Already I knew this was my kind of place.

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This brightly colored map greets you off the elevator. I tried to show BB where we visited, but he couldn’t have cared less. 

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but when I took my first look inside, my inner kid came to life and wanted to run from one thing to the next.

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The sign above says the museum is intended for children between 6 and 12 years of age, but I think it’s great for babies, too. I’d just suggest waiting until they can at least sit up on their own. 

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There’s a Swedish farmhouse! (Or stuga, according to the site.)

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I was tempted to wear one of the little smocks, but decided my 2016 clothes would have to suffice. Maybe when Baby Bear can wear one with me.

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This is one of the things I’m most excited for Baby Bear to grow into so we can explore more. The little house is equipped with things authentic to the time period, including the dining and bedroom areas you can see here, plus a kitchen full of  old-timey cookware.   

A farm!

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The entire museum has a homesteading feel to it. Here on the farm, kids can milk the wooden cow, gather firewood, pump for water….

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And gather pigs for the slaughterhouse apparently. But really, how was I not to feel instant camaraderie with this breastfeeding mama pig? With the exception of only having one baby attached to me, I’m in this position daily.

A ship!

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Baby Bear and friends loved to stand up against the little box seats and push the oars back and forth. They would have been terrible rowers, but anyone who would hire a crew of 11-month-olds has it coming.

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After he grew tired of rowing, Baby Bear (of course) found some stairs leading him up to the top of the ship. Hey, this apartment kid has to practice his stair climbing some time, doesn’t he?

A pioneer log cabin complete with a garden!

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The garden was especially fun because all of the veggies are made from cloth. Yet another reason why I think of this place as a pinnacle of homesteading; it’s full of wooden, metal, or cloth toys and details. Fun, educational, and less plastic waste!

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Now if only I could read that Swedish blessing (I assume?).

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This cabin reminded me of how grateful I am to have been born in this cushy era. Can you imagine winters in this house? 

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Wait a second, chickens don’t lay apples.

And, jumping ahead about a century, space!

You may be wondering why in the hell they would have a space exhibit. Well, it turns out Buzz Aldrin, the second man to walk on the moon after Neil Armstrong, is Swedish American.

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Some Swedish equipment (I believe it was a camera) that was used in the moon landing.

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Finally, there’s Buzz! Those chairs were the really exciting part here, though. That red button set off a countdown. Once the timer ran out, the chairs vibrated and rumbled to simulate blast off. Baby Bear and friends were a little alarmed by the new sensation, but they handled it like pros. I’m not sure I’m prepared for him to become an astronaut!

Rest assured, there’s even more to this museum that I haven’t shown you, but I don’t want to spoil all the fun.

In addition to what I’ve highlighted here, and other fun things for kids to climb on and explore, there’s plenty of educational text to accompany each play experience. Children can leave the Brunk Children’s Museum of Immigration with a great understanding of what it was like for Swedish immigrants coming to America (and by extension, what life was like for many other kinds of immigrants of that era too).

I truly do think this is a great activity for any kid or parent who’s a kid at heart. Plus, after your visit you can go ahead and visit the Swedish Bakery down the street, or just look at the little Swedish horse on the corner.

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Plan Your Visit

Location and hours

The Swedish American Museum is located at 5211 N. Clark Street, Chicago, IL 60640. The Brunk Children’s Museum of Immigration has different hours than the rest of the museum. They are as follows:

  • Monday to Thursday: 1:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m.
  • Friday: 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m.
  • Saturday and Sunday: 11:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m.

The museum is closed on several holidays, so make sure to check online before visiting on those days. For more information, click here.

Cost

The museum offers free admission on the second Tuesday of every month. 

Otherwise, admission for non-members is as follows:

  • Adults: $4
  • Children, students, and seniors: $3
    • Children under the age of one are free
  • Families: $10

Parking and transportation

The museum has a free parking lot located on the northeast corner of Ashland and Foster. From there, it’s a very short walk to the museum. Otherwise, Andersonville has plenty of paid street parking.

The nearest CTA ‘L’ stop is the Berwyn Red Line, which is about a half-mile walk away. As always, there are bus options available to you as well. I encourage you to map your trip using Google Maps if you need help.

Stroller or carrier?

With a decently spacious elevator and no shortage of room to park, bringing my stroller was a breeze. Especially during this heat, it’s nice to not have to wear my little furnace.

Final Word

I plan to make several trips back to the Brunk Children’s Museum of Immigration. If Baby Brown Bear enjoyed it as much as he did before he could even walk, he’ll absolutely love it as he continues to grow.

With so many engaging activities for kids of all ages, a helpful and accomodating staff, and a not-crowded atmosphere, this has quickly become one of my favorite Chicago spots.

Motherhood: The First Year in Review

First and foremost, I’d like to apologize for my recent absence. We’ve had a slew of gorgeous family weddings and get-togethers that have happily taken me away from my computer. In the meantime, I hope you’ve been reading some of my summer book suggestions. If so, I’d love to know what you think so far.

Secondly, and more importantly, in my time away, Baby Brown Bear turned one! Over the last few months, I’ve anxiously awaited–nay, actually felt apprehensive of–his first birthday. It’s hard to say why exactly, but I think it’s because it’s a rather significant milestone in a mother’s life. It’s important for the baby too, I suppose, but it’s not like he cares or will remember it. In fact, I’m not sure he has any sense of time at all at this point, aside from the difference between daytime and nighttime (and thank God for that). But for a mother, it’s when you earn a metaphorical “hey, you made it” sticker.

You made it!

At a year, at least outwardly, it seems like most mothers have found their stride. Though a baby constantly changes and a mother must adapt her parenting tactics accordingly, she at least has an idea of what works well. She doesn’t sweat the small stuff to the same degree she did just twelve months before. She also knows that she must add at least 20 minutes to a given time frame to account for any number of baby-related delays.

She has relaxed into her parenting approach and no longer hears that constant nag of self-doubt (or, at least, she can ignore it). And, most importantly, she’s kept her baby alive and well for an entire year. Though, to be honest, it really freaks me out when people congratulate me for that. One, I don’t like to think of the implication that I might not have been able to keep him alive for a year. Two, it makes me feel like they are jinxing our good health. We all know how fragile life continues to be well past a year (and all those horror stories in the news certainly don’t help). As a mother, I don’t think I’ll ever fully settle without worrying at least a little bit about baby’s well-being.

Better yet, a year marks a full rotation around the Sun. If anything, that’s why we should congratulate each other. We’ve just traveled about 584 million miles!

Take that, Executive Platinum status.

In all seriousness, a year is an easy milestone because it’s one of the most prominent measures of time. It’s a natural reflection point. “A year ago right now…” is an exercise that appeals to the emotional side of nearly all human beings. Mothers especially. Engineers less so (I say this with love, Papa Bear).

In the last few days leading up to Baby Bear’s birthday, I was in an incessant state of reminiscence. Down to the hour, I reminded Papa Bear what we were doing a year prior. “Today was my last work day and I had no idea!” “This is when I took the dog to the beach; our last time alone together before baby came.” “Right now  I was having brunch and poured almost an entire bottle of Cholula on my eggs.” “This is when we were driving to [a friend]’s house and my water broke but we didn’t realize it yet.” “This is about when I had that delicious glass of wine. What a great way to settle into a labor.” “Right now is when my water started to gush in my parents’ kitchen. Remember that picture we took together and it was our last as a childless couple?”

Imagine how many of these Papa Bear heard over the course of the day and a half that was my labor. It was never-ending, but it helped me cope and digest my bewilderment that an entire year had passed.

“Remember that time at band camp the hospital?”

I remembered everything from those 36 hours, more so even than the ones that followed, with such crisp detail, with more clarity than I ever remember anything. It’s like my thoughts, actions, and emotions were crystallized to ensure I never forget how it felt to stand on the precipice of complete and utter change. Like those mosquitoes forever stuck in amber in Jurassic Park, my pregnant self feels frozen in time.

Dinosaurs eat man. Woman inherits the Earth.

But, as much as that is true, it’s incredible to me how different I feel, too. Alongside this trip down memory lane, I couldn’t help but compare life now to a year ago, for me, my baby, and our family life in general.

Past to Present

Physically, I am completely different now than I was this time last year. I’ve lost the 60 pounds (yes, you read that right) that I gained. In fact, I now feel stronger than I ever did before pregnancy, largely because I now only have time for short, high-impact workouts instead of the long runs and gym visits I once enjoyed. Plus, nothing will make you feel as strong as carrying and birthing a baby.

I am woman. Hear me roar!

Though I finally feel like I’m once again in control of my body and am proud of the hard work I’ve put in over the last several months, returning to my pre-baby shape does serve as a bittersweet reminder of the growing physical distance between baby and me. With each passing day, he needs me less and less. No longer does he need to nurse every two hours. No longer can I clearly remember how it felt to have him move in my swollen belly. Where we were connected for nine months, then nearly connected for a few more months after that, it’s clear to see he’s becoming increasingly independent and separated from me. While that makes me happy and feel like we’re doing something right, it also makes me realize how much time has passed since his birth. And how fast things will continue to go.

I’ll tell you one thing that never goes back to normal, though, and that’s a breastfeeding mama’s chest.

Meanwhile, Baby Bear is almost an entirely new person. He’s gained roughly 15 pounds, probably 11 or 12 inches, and now has discernible facial features instead of a more generic newborn look. He doesn’t lie around and sleep between feedings anymore, but is a force of nature. He crawls, stands, shuffles, climbs, and dives everywhere (including many places he shouldn’t). He smiles, laughs, mimics, and experiments with sounds and words. He’s responsive, inquisitive, flexible, happy-go-lucky, and fun. More and more do I realize how much of a mind of his own he has, and so far I’m excited to say it’s one of a very thoughtful, loving little boy.

How can a little baby be my best bud?

Situationally, life is significantly different. All throughout my pregnancy and even after Baby Bear was born, I was sure I would go back to work. I barely even entertained the idea of staying home because it wasn’t something I wanted to do. I placed so much of myself in my job and was proud of the work I did. So much so that it was one of the ways I defined myself. When I even thought of not returning, one of my first thoughts was, “Who would I be without a job?” Looking back, this seems ridiculous, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wasn’t sure how I’d define my worth if I quit.

The first inkling I had that maybe, just maybe quitting was worth considering was about a week after Baby Bear was born (because, let’s be honest, that first week was a whirlwind in which I was not thinking about work at all). As I sat in the rocking chair in Baby Bear’s dimly lit nursery, holding a peacefully sleeping baby in my arms, panic struck me. How on Earth was I to leave this angelic, completely dependent little being behind to go to the office? Was anything I did there really more important than being with him? It was an idea that took hold and burrowed its way deeper and deeper into my head and heart.

It was those eyelashes. Have you even seen a baby’s eyelashes?

Within a few weeks, I was starting to test out how “stay-at-home mom” sounded when I said it aloud. I was far from committing to it, but I was beginning to entertain the idea. As I looked into Baby Bear’s face and as he gripped my finger with his tiny little hands, I was becoming more certain that my sense of worth was only going to flourish if I stayed home.

Within a few more weeks, I knew it was the right decision for my family. By that point, I absolutely dreaded going back only to give my notice because I didn’t want to feel judged for my decision (the same for which I had shamefully been known to judge others). I also didn’t want people to think that it had been my plan all along and that I had lied about it. I had severe anxiety even up the morning of my first day back (12 weeks is such a joke, by the way). Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised–even shocked–when I received nothing but support and understanding.

Some of my coworkers had made that decision themselves, and hadn’t returned to the workforce until their children were grown. They told me how happy they were for me because they had absolutely never regretted their time at home. Other coworkers had decided to return to work because it was the right move for their families, and they sympathized with how tough of a call it is, especially when babies are still so helpless. A Canadian colleague said it was a shame the U.S. didn’t offer a full year off because then they wouldn’t lose so many good colleagues. It was a flattering, but sadly true comment.

All told, it was an eye-opening moment because it was one of the few times I’ve experienced women coming together to talk about their shared experiences, specifically the shared difficulty they face when considering career and family decisions.

Luckily, I’ve been witness to a lot more of that kind of vulnerability and acceptance in the last year as I’ve found myself surrounded with incredible, positive women. It’s a powerful thing when we support each other and stand united.

Let’s quickly acknowledge that it’s complete bullshit that the U.S. is the only developed nation without paid maternity leave.

A year into the stay-at-home mom thing, I can tell you that I have never for one day regretted the decision to quit. There are certainly some aspects of the job I miss, mostly my coworkers, and I do sometimes wonder how the yet undetermined gap will affect my career in the long run. But when I think of the alternative, I would not change it for a second.

Not that I know any differently, but I think staying at home has given me the opportunity to know every facet of my son’s personality from its inception. I’ve seen his first smile and know the differences between his morning smiles, his tired smiles, his bashful smiles, his excited smiles, and his lovey dovey smiles. I know what toys he prefers when we travel and what toys he prefers before nap time. I know what makes him giggle when nothing else will (jump squats), or least stop crying (a creepy YouTube video of “Wheels on the Bus”). I know myself well enough to know that if I were working full time, I would be over committing myself as usual. I think I’d be less attentive to the minute details that make Baby Bear who he is.

Pause.

Now, don’t misread me. I’m not on a high horse to tell all women that they should stay home because it is what’s best. I fully acknowledge that it’s not the right decision for everyone. For one, women should take pride in the work they do and should continue to do it if it makes them happy. I also know that for many women it isn’t really a choice; they must work to pay the bills.

As a former daycare kid myself, I think kids who have non-parent caretakers turn out wonderfully. My little analysis isn’t about me passing judgment or thinking I have a holier-than-thou answer to life. This is me spending a little time to reflect on my own experience.

While I’m here, I also want to make clear that, while I spend an awful lot of time thinking  and writing about motherhood, I don’t adhere to the belief that women don’t truly understand life until they’re mothers. Some people want kids, some people don’t. I think what’s most important is that you recognize what would make you happy.

In my short time as a mother, I’ve learned kids don’t necessarily make things easier, the path to self-discovery included. (Of course I say this as I’m writing an essay about how my perspective and self-understanding have broadened in the last year). Motherhood isn’t the answer; it just provides a different lens through which to look at the world.

Maybe motherhood is the answer to you. What the hell do I know? My experience is inherently different from yours. That’s what makes life so interesting! Let’s embrace our differences just like we embrace our similarities.

Unpause.

Okay, so I don’t regret quitting. What else has changed in the last year?

Let’s get the bad stuff over with first. I’m way more addicted to my phone than I ever was before. It’s my worst bad habit, and is one that makes me feel incredibly guilty at all times, especially when I look up to see Baby Bear watching me. Honestly, I don’t even care about what’s happening on Facebook, so why do I check it 7,000 times a day?! I hope that with awareness and time, this gets better, especially as Baby Bear starts to engage with me even more.

We’ve also battled a couple pretty bad illnesses over the last year–the norovirus is the pits–but knowing that it could be so much worse helps to keep things in perspective.

And, try as I might to shut it out, I’ve developed the infamous Mom Guilt. It’s so easy to question every single move you make as a mother, especially when the anonymous assholes of the internet shame you on all sides. This is where having a trusted pediatrician and reassuring friends makes all the difference. When I mention how I feel bad about the margaritas I had for dinner the night before, my good friends don’t judge. Instead they ask, “Ooh where’d you get them?!”

I never valued happy hour more than I do now.

Now the positive changes. There are so many!

I thought becoming a mother might make me worry more, and while I have anxieties about all sorts of bizarre things–some of which are rational–I think it’s done the opposite. When thinking of how it’s affected me, I can’t help but immediately note how much more patient I am. In fact, I’d say I’m more patient, open, and reflective. I think these qualities have grown partly because I have more time to grow them. I’m no longer running from one place to another and trying to squeeze in my life after hours. Instead I can stop and observe life around me. I’m not rushed anywhere (though I’m still often late), and if I am, I now realize it’s only myself I have to blame for it.

I don’t even get annoyed when going to the grocery store, doctor’s office, or DMV anymore because I have the time to wait. It’s a miracle!

I also believe this time and reflection have made me kinder. I certainly care more now about the plights of others. I think I was a kind person before, one who cared about people, righting wrongs, and ridding the world of injustice, but I didn’t do much about it. I’m not saying I’m doing a lot about it now, but spending a year watching and interacting with the people in my community certainly makes me want to try harder.

I feel such a passionate need to leave behind a better world for my son, and feel the need now more than ever to lead by example. I’m no longer responsible for just myself, but now have to act on baby’s behalf, too.

As I mentioned in my open letter last month, I feel that Baby Bear is my legacy and I want to ensure as best I can that he is kind and fights for what is right and good. If I don’t act this way now, he won’t learn to either. Maybe another reason I’m supposed to stay home is because it affords me the time to become more active in giving back to my community. Maybe I can become a better and more vocal advocate for change. I’m tired of sitting back idly.

It’s hard to say how I would feel if I were working, but knowing myself and the amount of stress and responsibility I sign up for, I don’t think I’d have the time or energy to give any of these things nearly as much dedication or thought.

Now I do have time for that.

I also think I’m more confident than I was before. It’s hard to tell if this is because I’m getting older or if this is because of motherhood; it’s probably somewhere in between. Unless it affects me, I’ve stopped caring what other people do with themselves and have realized I don’t care what people think of what I’m doing either. I like and am proud of who I am, and I’ve finally accepted that’s what is important. I think it’s also because I’ve worked hard to maintain a sense of self and nurture my friendships and interests. With the help of an involved partner and more-than-willing grandparents, I’m able to exercise, play games, go to the occasional dinner, and read. I prioritize my mental and physical health because it curbs my anxieties and makes me a better friend, partner, and mother.

Happy self, happy life?

This last year has also made me feel more grateful for all of the good in my life. In addition to having the necessities like a roof over my head, plenty of food to sustain me, and an abundance of clothes to keep me warm (or cool), I find blessings everywhere I look.

My family and I have our health and a comfortable lifestyle that allows us to go on fun adventures. We have supportive and generous friends, both new and old, who help make us better people. We have an incredible extended family, including three amazing great-grandparents and four fabulous grandparents. We have a not-so-cuddly but oh-so-sweet dog who begrudgingly allows Baby Bear to tug at his tail and climb on top of him. I have a loving, hard-working, and attentive husband whose support in this whole parenting thing means more than I could possibly describe. I have an adorable and lively little guy whose smile tugs at my heart every single time. Life is good, man.

And I tell you, nothing helps remind you of that more than watching life pass you by. I literally watched the seasons change this year. I go on a lot of walks with the babe and dog and pass by many of the same parks and gardens day after day. Over the course of the year, I saw trees shed their leaves only to blossom again a few months later. I saw flowers wilt and freeze, then bloom with more vibrancy that I could ever recall. I actually bask in the sunlight now, especially in the winter when I’d previously wake up, go to work, and come home in the dark.

I am so thankful for the life I have, for the time I spend with Baby Bear, and for the world around us. This year has allowed me to grow.

To infinity and beyond.

But, now that baby is a year old, many people are starting to ask me what’s next. Will I go back to work soon?

I think there’s a natural tendency we have as human beings to anticipate the “next” thing. “Once X is done, we’ll be able to focus on Y,” or, “Life will be easier once Z is over.” That may be true, and it may be a great way to get through some of the more trying periods in life, but for me, right now, I don’t want to wish away time any faster than it’s already going.

I don’t know what’s next. Yes, I may be missing out on some cool opportunities, but for now I’m happy just being and savoring. I’m doing what’s right for me, what’s right for my family, and damn if I’m not enjoying it.

Cheers to a phenomenal second year. And many more.

 

 

 

[Cover photo source]