Last weekend felt almost comically Chicago. On Saturday morning I took my two young children and our dog to the nearest park nearby and then walked to Mindy’s for coffee and a raspberry pastry. (Worth the line!)
Later a friend texted. Her parents’ friends had a boat and asked if we wanted to come along More Michigan? A few hours later we swam off the boat and ate cheese and charcuterie as the sun set over the skyline. When it got dark, fireworks lit up the sky.
The next morning was Bucktown Arts Fest, a few blocks from our house. My daughter saw her kindergarten teacher dressed as Mother Goose and sat down to hear her read stories. The children had glitter dogs painted on their faces. Our neighbors offered to watch them so I could explore a little; I wandered past stalls selling crafts, cards and jewelery and bought a few cheese plate prints.
Sunday night I felt a wave of gratitude for this life we had built.
A year earlier, none of this existed.
They enjoy going for walks to coffee shops and parks. Thanks to Hannah Howard
We had all the things families would want
My husband and I were tried-and-true New Yorkers before we had children. In the early weeks of the pandemic, when New York was the epicenter of COVID, we left the city feeling like we had only escaped for a short time. Our daughter was born in April.
Months later, what had started as a temporary refuge became something more permanent: we moved to that small country town in New Jersey and began building our family life there. The peace and space felt like exactly what we needed at the time.
Five years later, that baby was getting ready to go to kindergarten, her three-year-old brother was starting kindergarten, and the world had changed.
When my husband had one job in ChicagoCity life suddenly became possible again. I work for myself, so my work can come with us.
On paper, moving looked backwards. We had a house, a garden, quiet streets and lots of space – all things that families are supposedly looking for.
But our town had one coffee shop, one playground and only a handful of families with young children. When everyone was busy, which it felt like all the time, that was about it.
I realized how much I missed the energy of city life: walking out the door without knowing exactly what might happen, having choices, seeing people. There was a lot of physical space around us, yet my own world felt smaller.
So we moved to Chicago.
Her children have become more independent since the move. Thanks to Hannah Howard
I was afraid that living in the city would diminish childhood
We have given up things. We no longer have a backyard. There is more noise and parking can be annoying. (Ironically, our house in Chicago is actually bigger than the one we left behind.)
But what feels most different isn’t the amount of space. It’s how much more life is packed around us.
We walk to schoolthe library, playgrounds, coffee shops, restaurants and friends’ houses. Usually children play in the alley, often mine. We take walks along the 606, Chicago’s elevated railway line. On Sundays we scooter to the Wicker Park farmers market to buy flowers, then get tacos and spicy margaritas at Big Star. Sometimes after bedtime I hang out with a makeshift mother on a nearby patio.
We can take the 73 bus to the free Lincoln Park Zoo, and my kids find riding the bus an attraction in itself.
If one plan fails, there are ten others.
The author’s family no longer has a backyard, but still spends a lot of time outdoors. Thanks to Hannah Howard
Their world extends beyond our front door
I assumed that raising children in a city would require keeping them closer.
Instead, I watched them become more capable. They know the route to school, the library, Aldi and the chic specialty store. They learn how to cross busy streets, wait for the blue line, and navigate public spaces with all kinds of people.
They recognize neighbors and the people who work at our regular locations. On the sidewalk we meet classmates, teachers and other parents. Their world is not within our property line. It extends through the neighborhood and beyond.
That COVID baby is now a first grader walking into our neighborhood elementary school. Her little brother just started pre-K in the building next door.
There is one view in which childish freedom needs area. But I see a different kind of freedom in knowing how to move through a community.
My definition of a good place to raise children changed
I used to think a good place to raise children was one that offered a certain kind of abundance: more garden, more peace, more space to spread out.
Now I think abundance can look very different.
It could be three playgrounds within walking distance, while the first one is inexplicably ‘boring’. It could be a library that we enter without planning ahead, a bus that arrives just as everyone’s legs are getting tired, or deciding at 6:30 on a summer afternoon that we might as well get ice cream because it’s there.
It could also be other people.
People we meet. People my kids wave at. A neighborhood where our lives overlap with other lives all day long.
I don’t think Chicago is a better way to raise children. It just suits us much better. A year later, I don’t miss the quieter version of family life I thought we would want. I feel like we have found our way back to ourselves.
