Museum of Science and Industry

On the drive back from Madison, we stopped at Chicago's Museum of Science and Industry. As we walked in, the ticket taker said, "Oh, you were here this morning, weren't you?" Perhaps this doesn't seem like a relevant detail, but this happens to me ALL the time. Well, not me, really, but me and Matthew. It was kind of nice to have this happen with David along so I could say, "See what I mean?!?!" I can only figure that another multiracial family had visited the museum that morning.

We watched a guy lay on a bed of nails and learned about surface tension and its inverse relationship with pressure, while I whispered in Cameron's ear, "I don't care what they say, don't you dare try to lay on nails!"

We went on a coal mine tour and road in a coal car while Matthew screamed in terror.

We projected our faces onto a mannequin, and I concluded that I do not look good without hair. (Hence, I am only posting the children's photos here.)

We saw baby chicks, both hatching, newly hatched and recently hatched.

Cameron climbed a wall and posed theatrically. "Take a photo NOW, Mommy!" he called, as he widened his eyes and bent his knee.

We posed for a family photo.

We visited a submarine exhibit that was really, really cool. Matthew loudly sang, "We all live in a purple submarine." Yes, he's a Beatles fan but he's no conformist.

And finally, I spent most of my time at this confounding exhibit. "Generic counselor? What's a generic counselor? Ohhhh, GENETIC counselor! Soooo . . . what's that?" I clicked on a few buttons -- 'Assess Family Tree' and 'Consult Expert' -- saw a bunch of big words -- 'allele' and 'retinoblastoma' and 'mutation' -- and quickly concluded that you'd have to be crazy to want to be a genetic counselor.* *Not sure why this is funny? It's because I AM a genetic counselor.