The End of the Trip as We Know It

Ah. I'd like to say that with the help of Dayquil, sugar, and a few well-placed threats, we made it successfully through our NYC trip. But we still have the return trip and Pie is nearing the end of her happy-trip attitude. With all the "surprises" over, she's d-u-n-n (which is our family's version of the word, a la "r-u-n-n o-f-t"). Tonight she got a little sad, missing her big brother. She insisted on calling him, and then after talking realized she forgot to tell him she'd see him tomorrow, so she demanded I give her the phone back to tell him. Meanwhile, Doodles is showing his innate guyness--when I said to him, "I miss you!" he simply responded, "Me too."

My cold is somewhat fierce (and, yes, it's still a cold. I have a lovely--but productive!--hack), but it's well medicated, so I'm good. As you've seen, we've had a most lovely and busy day. Pie was so happy with the Plaza that she overcame her disappoint that Eloise wasn't there. Although as she left, she asked if we could come back later in the day to see if Eloise was back, but I pointed out we'd be a little busy to come all the way back.

My mom's show (will I ever remember? Exhibit!) at the Nohra Haime Gallery (in the Fuller building on 57th street--visit it if you're in the area!) was the second stop, and Pie was fascinated by Nana's latest work, which is intriguing.

But, oh, the light in her eyes when we showed up at Dashing Divas. She took right to her mani/pedi. And then the excitement at the cupcake store. So many cupcakes! How to choose! But nothing, nothing! compared with the thrill of Pinkalicious. There was actual squealing involved. And she sat, rapt, the entire time, mouth slightly agape, moving only to see around the woman in front of us (I let her sit on my lap for a better view). The musical was cute--and quite tolerable at just an hour long. I've never seen so many ecstatic little girls in one place: Bleeker Street, the preschool version. That was a first for me. Pie waited patiently at the end for an autograph and to have her picture taken with Pinkalicious afterward. Definitely worth harassing the ticket guy to get Pie in.

Lunch was good, but Pie was definitely fading. I was glad we made it to Benny's--one of my favorite places from my East Village days. I ordered the same thing I've ordered all these years--a quesadilla grande. I don't think I'll ever venture to anything else.

Our only downer--other than the occasional "I can't walk anymore!"--was when we finally trekked to the F train (in the rain!), we waited and waited. An announcement would come on, and I'd ask around, "What did he say? Did you understand that?" The crowd grew and grew and the announcement played and played "Garble garble...Broadway/Lafeyette...garble garble...J Street... garble garble." Finally I found someone who understood it. "Train's not running here. Walk to the next stop and take the D train." So we trekked over to the next stop. I did look for a cab, but on a rainy day, no surprise that not a cab was to be found.

So after that slow shuffle to the next subway station, Pie's collapse was no surprise. The walking for the entire day was fairly substantial. From the apartment to the subway to the Plaza, from the Plaza to the gallery, from the gallery to the subway at 60th St., from the subway on Broadway to 8th and University to Bleeker and Lafeyette to Avenue A and 6th Street to Houston and First to Broadway and Lafeyette to... well, that's when she fell asleep. Sitting on the subway. She had a seat and I was standing in front of her and all of a sudden, her little head leaned forward into my legs. I asked the person next to her, "Is she really asleep?" She looked down and said, "Yep!"

Of course, this was the day I decided to wear nicer shoes, so in my heels, I picked Pie up on the moving subway, made my way to the doors, and then carried 40 pounds of dead weight back to the apartment. She woke up and that's when she started pining for her big brother.

And me? My Nyquil has started to take effect. So I'm off to bed. The ride home will be nightmarish, but at sometime tomorrow, Pie will be reunited with her Doodles, and all will be right in the world again.

One Too Many Activities

Stop #6: Lunch

Can't miss the quesadilla grande at Benny's Burritos.

Surprise #3: Pink, Pink, Pink!

...Pinkalicious, The Musical!

Surprise #2: Crumbs

Nothing controversial about this stop! A trip to Crumbs, for a cupcake
extraordinaire. She ordered the Reeses cupcake. Too bad she didn't
order a pink cupcake because our next stop is...

Surprise #1: The Little Diva

When searching for this online, I discovered that little girl mani/
pedis are a very controversial topic. I don't wish to debate it. The
girl loved it. And we now have matching nails.

Stop #2: Nana's Show

Stop #1: Anyone Home?

The first stop on our whirlwind day is to the Plaza, Plaza, Plaza to
see, of course, if Eloise was home. We were rawther disappointed to
learn she was running errands with Nanny, but we did get to see her
picture and she was kind enough to leave Pie a postcard.

The Artist in Her Museum

Flashbacks, Flashforwards

Note to self: When telling a four-year-old that you're going to an art show, be sure to emphasize the art part and perhaps use the word "exhibit" instead of "show." Because, otherwise, after entering an extremely crowded museum (luckily for free through the passes of my mother), you will have a sad child looking for "the people doing a show."

Today was another trip down memory lane. I recently got back in touch with a former roommate, a woman I met at my first post-college job at Saatchi and Saatchi. We lived together in a one-bedroom apartment in Alphabet City, back when Alphabet City was a scarier part of town, about a year after the riots in Tompkins Square Park. Our apartment was one block north and one block east of the park. I know I've written about it before. It was the fifth floor of a walk-up, where the front door didn't lock, and the light on the third floor landing was out so you'd have to step over the homeless guys sleeping there. She slept in the living room and I slept in the bedroom because, well, I whine loudly and she's a nicer person than I am. The only closet, though, was in the bedroom so she'd tiptoe in to get her shoes, which was fine except when my sort-of boyfriend was there and when the psycho cat was having flashbacks (we had a cat passed on to us named Motorhead. A female cat named Motorhead. This cat had done more drugs than Flower, myself, the sort of boyfriend, and the rest of the apartment building including the guy sleeping on the third-floor landing put together. This cat was not normal but she did do a thorough job on the mice, of which there were a few). This was the apartment that taught me it is easier to buy more underwear than to cart my clothes down five flights and four blocks away to be cleaned. Hence why Adam does laundry today (no one--I mean no one--can outlast my supply of underwear, so I never, ever need to do laundry). I could continue with this little history for a long, long time, so let's move on to today.

My roommate, Flower (the name I actually call her, but not her real name), found me online and I got to meet her for breakfast this morning at City Bakery. Pie came with us, got a muffin, met Flower ("Her name is really Flower? I can call her 'Flower'?"), and then got picked up by my father so Flower and I could catch up. I haven't seen her since I moved out of New York in 1994. So, you know, it had been a while. It was amazing seeing her--it brought back memories I had long, long forgotten (or repressed?), including a week-long stay in the hospital. How do you forget things like that? I had.

See? The magic of the Internet. I have Flower back! We had a nosh, we did a little shopping (I'm almost good on all my Hanukkah shopping), roaming the Union Square area (more memories--my NYU dorm was on Union Square).

After I said good-bye to Flower, I retrieved Pie and my mother, and we headed to the "art show" that had no "show." The afternoon was saved, though, because the Guggenheim has a ramp. Oh! What a ramp! She climbed up and up and up! Occasionally we tried to point out the art work ("What do you see here? Aren't these interesting colors?") and she'd look for a second and then head back to the ramp. She had some interest in the Anish Kapoor piece and the gold of the beads. But, worryingly, the thing that most interested her was the Kitty Kraus, a room that basically had melted ink all over the floor. And us with those beautiful new floors at home. Oh well.

She became interested in the Kadinsky "bubble" painting after we suggested that when she got back to the apartment she could make her own Kadinsky-inspired art work.

We were hoping to meet the Tweedle Twirp for a late lunch, but Pie pooped, so we headed back to the apartment. Tweedles and I went out for some Japanese food and a trip to the Strand, and Pie stayed back at the apartment to create an art museum with my mom. I listened to Tweedles's life of academia and woes about bedbugs (yes, she had bedbugs! And did you know a bedbug registry exists? Awesome! She had to heat everything in her apartment to above 120 degrees using some special machine and everything the owned was put in ziplock bags. She also had to buy new furniture. Fun times!), but apparently it's too soon to joke about the bedbugs, so no snide comments here. We came back to a wonderful art museum in the apartment--Pie spent quite a while making wonderful drawings.

Tomorrow is the day of Pie surprises. I'll try to post as we do them so you can be surprised along with her. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow and hope the girl can keep her stamina up. We start the day with a breakfast at the gallery that's having her show, which Pie knows about, and then we continue with the ultimate girl day.

The only thing marring this trip so far is I've developed a rather bad cold. I keep checking in with myself ("No fever. Good. Oh, that cough is in my chest and phlegmy. Check. Stuffy nose. Yep.") just to make sure it's really a cold and not H1N1. One of my favorite things to do in NYC is of course running. I love going down the West Side, in Henry Hudson park, around the tip of Manhattan. But with this cold, that's not happening. Luckily race season is over and I'm not training for anything, so I can allow myself to be a slug for a few days.

So for now, I'm off to take my Nyquil. Good night, everyone! Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite.

City Mice

My daughter is definitely a City Mouse. And I am not nearly as organized as I'd like to be. My plans to leave home for the Big City at 6 a.m. kinda petered out as we finally left at 7. And by 7, I mean 7:38. But we made great time right up to the point where we weren't making great time, and Pie only asked seven times in the first hour, "When are we going to be in New York?"

The drive was painless right up to Westchester, when the powers that be decided to make the three-lane highway and one-lane highway, extending out trip by a full hour. But we made it to my parents' apartment just in time for lunch and then we headed out for our adventures.

Our first stop was my old office. Well, not really my old office, but yes really my old office. Once upon a time, in a decade far far away, I worked for the book publishing company Putnam Berkley, which has since become Penguin Putnam. Our offices were in the Murray Hill area. The offices have since moved to a swank building in SoHo. So I never worked there. Except that I have because my very first short-lived job out of college was working in advertising. In the very same swank building.

Visiting the office really made me miss those days of having a place to go and work to do. The woman I visited is now the head of the whole department, and she was the also the woman who replaced me when I left the job in 1994. A lifetime ago. It's hard not to think what ifs. What if I had stayed in New York. What if I had stayed in publishing. What if, what if, what if. But really, I remember finding my job rather dull, and I was near the end when I applied for grad school. New York was grating on my nerves--I spent way too much time working (I had to do freelance after work to make enough money to pay my rent) and not enough time doing the things that one moves to New York to do. So I left.

But it's still fun visiting them, hearing what everyone is up to. But after I got my grown-up time in, it was on to kid stuff. We hooked up with the Nana and headed to Milk and Cookies for, surprise! Milk and cookies. Yummy, decadent cookies. And then off to Porto Rico for superdark coffee. (Note to anyone else whose husband says, "Buy me superdark coffee." That's not actually a coffee name. Just a description. And you'll look like an idiot if you just walk up and say, "A pound of the Superdark, please." Just sayin'.) And finally to that shopping mecca, the destination that one litle girl has been pining for lo these years: LittleMissMatched. That girl of mine is obsessed with socks and MissMatched socks at that. I think we pretty much bought the store out. We walked a bit. Pie is a great people watcher and she sat happily for a bit at the ice rink at Rockefeller Center. She wanted to go see if Eloise was home, but she started to fade so we headed back to my parents apartment ("Yea!! Subway, subway, subway!" [sung to the tune of "The Bundle Dance").

Next few days are full. I've already called my boy twice--I miss him like crazy, but know he's going to have a good guys weekend, which apparently includes eating copious amounts of steak. And we're going to have a great girls weekend, which includes... Well, I can't tell you. Because when I told Pie on Wednesday, "I made some fabulous plans for us," she squealed, clapped, and said, "Don't tell me! I want to be surprised!"

So we'll have surprises all around!

Get Out Much Lately?

Tomorrow Doodles and Adam are going to a Red Sox game, so Pie and I are having a Mommy-Daughter day (Pie was given the option of a Red Sox game or lunch with me, and she chose lunch with me). In the morning, the two of us are going together to do some volunteer work. But after, we can do whatever we like.

Me: I've been thinking about our day tomorrow. I have two choices that I think you might like: We could have lunch in Harvard Square and then watch the Dragon Boat Races on the Charles or we could go to the art museum. We could have lunch in the cafe there.
Pie: Dragon boats like on Kai-Lan?
Me: Um, not sure. Maybe.
Pie: I want to go to the art museum!
Me: That sounds great! We'll do that.
Pie [in a confused tone]: So, are we going to New York tomorrow?
Me: No. We won't go to New York till school gets out for the year.
Pie: But you said we could go to the art museum tomorrow!

It takes me a minute, but then I get it.

Me: No, Pie. Did you know that there are actually art museums in Boston?
Pie: There are?!?

Oops. Somehow, it's always seemed easier to hop in the car for a 3 1/2 hour drive to NYC to go to the Met than it's been to hop a T into town. Do you think maybe it's time for me to start exploring my own city with the kids? At the rate we're going, they're going to think that Boston is a suburb of New York. Well, a suburb with a superior baseball team. At least, according to their father.

New York, Old Me

Last weekend, we headed down for NYC for Saturday night to celebrate my parents' 45th wedding anniversary and my dad's 69th birthday. Our trips to New York are so brief these days that I don't get to see old friends or do much of anything that doesn't revolve around the kids. I'm hoping this summer to take the kids for a good week or so and then I'll get to call people and get out a bit more.

This time, though, I kept thinking I'd seen people I knew. For example, on the subway with Pie on the way to hang out with Tweeds in Soho, I could have sworn I saw my former boss from my publishing days. She was sitting on the platform, with her trademark gray streaked hair. I was seconds away from saying something to her when it occurred to me that she looked exactly as she looked... eighteen years ago. If I saw her today, there's no way her gray streaked hair would still be streaked. At this point, it would be entirely gray or solidly not (if she colored it). The woman was in her mid 30s. These days, my former boss would be in her early 50s. I thought I saw a guy I dated briefly in college and two friends from film school. But the people I was seeing were the age they were back then.

I think the issue is, I don't picture myself as 40. I feel like I'm eternally about 26 or 28 (never 27. Don't know why, but 27 never enters my thoughts). Forty just doesn't fit right on me. It's kind of like the house remodel--I told Adam, "The new house feels like the kind of house a grown-up would live in. I'm not old enough for a grown-up house."

Growing up, my parents would always say, "Our house, our rules." When I was 19, I lived in a loft-style apartment in New York near Gramercy Park. My mom came to stay with me. At about 2 a.m., a friend of mine called. My mom was on the couch below and I saw her jump up when the phone rang, with a look on her face like someone was about to get in trouble (no phone calls after 10 p.m. had been the rule). And then suddenly her expression changed as she realized she didn't have a say any more, and I said, "My house, my rules! Calls are welcome at any hour!" I felt like such a grown-up! I definitely felt more grown-up then than I do now. (For the record, nowadays calls are almost never welcome, at any hour, and certainly never after oh, let's say, 7 p.m.)

But grown-up I am. Pie loves to check on my hair roots. "Mommy, pull back your hair! I want to see the white!"

I pulled back my hair, but I had had it colored two weeks ago (yes, I have my hair colored). Pie said, "It's not white!" Then she paused and said, "But it will be!"

Yes. Yes, it will.

What I've Been Up To, Part Two

The apartment no longer smells of bologna, because the stink of burnt sugar has overridden it. And I don't mean the yummy smell of caramelized sugar; I mean the stench of sugar that smoked up and snuck into every nook and cranny. That smell of burnt sugar. Note to self: don't leave check Facebook while toffee syrup is cooking.

To continue with New York trip #1: A quick note about Thanksgiving: Everything, and I mean everything, was open, it seemed. Whole Foods? Open. Gristede's? Open. The bagel store? Open. The liquor store? Open. To me, half the fun of Thanksgiving is realizing you've forgotten some important ingredient and having to make some sort of odd substitution in a panic-stricken way. It loses some of the magic when you can pop down to the local market and pick up that bag of cranberries or the bottle of bourbon (neither of which I forgot--my bourbon-spiked sweet potatoes, by the way, were fabulous, if I do say so myself).

On both Friday and Saturday night, Adam and I were able to escape sans kids. One lovely dinner at AOC. Another lovely dinner at Le Zie. A movie. A real movie. With no cartoon characters or people singing in high-pitched voices (Slumdog Millionaire, which was amazing!).

Saturday was even better because while Adam and my father took Doodles to the Museum of Natural History and my mom to Pie to the Central Park Zoo, I had sushi and beer with the Tweedle Twirp. Happiness all around! Of course, Pie being Pie, my mother reported that they took the subway up to the zoo. The zoo is three blocks from the subway stop. But upon exiting the subway, Pie announced, "I can't walk. I'm too tired."

Now, any self-respecting parent--as my mother was at one time--knows that the proper response to this is, "Well, if you're that tired, we'll turn around and go back to the apartment." It is not, as my mother said, "Taxi!" Yes, my diva daughter got her Nana to spring for a taxi to go the entire three blocks from the subway to the zoo. And I wonder why she has such princess tendencies.

The trip was a success and the ride back was almost tolerable, except for Pie shouting for the last hour, "I want to get out of my seat RIGHT NOW!" and Adam's shortcut that took us an extra hour. The highlight was Pie taking her bag of carrots and her water bottle and chucking them across the car. That girl might have a future as a ball player... as long as it doesn't mess up her nails, of course (nails painted by Nana, colors chosen by Pie: black on the left foot, red on the right).

The following weekend I returned to New York with three girlfriends, Beetle; Jasmine's mother who needs a name of her own, but of course, like all princesses, Jasmine doesn't have a living mother (quick--name a Disney princess with a mother!); and a third friend who we met up there, A.

As enjoyable as the first trip was, this was a whole new experience. We weren't sure which subway to take. Doesn't matter! Just hop on! No one needs a snack or a bathroom or is whining, "When will we get there?" We'll figure it out as we go. At every meal--every meal!!!--no one insisted on eating off my plate. No one used an outdoor voice in the restaurant. No one said, "I'm tiiiired. Can we go home yet? How much longer?"

We had sushi at 11 p.m. Music and beer at National Underground. An incredible nine-mile run with Beetle around the tip of Manhattan (we saw Chelsea Piers, Ground Zero, the Statue of Liberty, Battery Park, South Street Seaport--really nice). Breakfast at noon at Markt. A bit of shopping. Some cookies. An amazing Broadway show. And a midnight dinner at Le Zie again for me. Breakfast on Sunday at City Bakery, and back and back again, lickety split. The ride back was fast, despite bad weather. Relaxation. Grown-up time. Fun. And then... home.

And now? Bye bye relaxation. Bye bye grown-up time. Bye bye fun. Now it's back to holiday shopping, baking, gift wrapping, child wrangling, house remodeling, tiny apartments, smelly bedrooms, bathrooms in need of cleaning, laundry machines that are always in use by the neighbors, yadda yadda yadda.

I'm going to make (read: reheat Whole Foods') dinner. I wish you all a happy yadda yadda yadda.

What I've Been Up To, Part One

There are two main reasons I don't post: one, I have nothing to write about. Or two, I have so much to write about that I can't find the time to sit down and when I do sit down, I don't know where to begin. It's been more of the latter. At the moment, Doodles is in kindergarten (I started to write preschool--still can't wrap my head around having a kindergartener) and Pie is actually, kind of, sort of playing nicely behind me. If this post ends abruptly, you'll know it's because "playing nicely" turned into "complete meltdown," which is what happens every day. The question is the when.

I've had two trips to New York, a kindergarten conference, holiday shopping, and house building shenanigans. But that's not what's compelled me to blog today. Today I blog because my bedroom smells. Specifically, of bologna. Why does my bedroom smell of bologna? I have no idea. No one in the family eats bologna. Why does that compel me to blog? Again, no idea. But lying in bed last night, unable to get the smell of bologna out of my nose, I thought, "I should blog about this." So here I am.

Actually the whole apartment smells. I sort of think that this might be a reflection upon my cleaning skills. I'm pretty good about vacuuming almost daily (the kids eat over a rug), but the nice bottles of environmentally-friendly cleaners I bought in a fit of optimism when we first moved in have remained pretty much untouched. But they sure do look pretty! Our contractor feels pretty optimistic that we can move back into the house the first week of February. That's just about seven weeks. And we're spending a week and a half of that in Miami Beach for New Year's. So that's just five and a half weeks of smell. Clean? Or stink? For five and a half weeks, I can live with stink. I'm practical like that.

While I'm here, I might as well tell you about New York. The first trip with the family over Thanksgiving was actually a real success. The kids were engaged and had fun and basically left me alone. Perfect! On Thursday morning, after we all watched the parade, I cooked and my dad, well, I guess he kind of supervised, the Nana, the Tweedle Twirp, and the Adam took the kids ice skating at Bryant Park. A lovely (but ill timed--even with a pre-cooked turkey, I was off) dinner ensued. The next day, the foursome of my family headed to the Fire Museum, which was quite interesting, although I made the mistake of attempting to explain 9/11 to Doodles. I thought he'd think it was something removed, a long, long time ago, but when he realized it was only seven years ago, he said, "Mom, that's not long ago at all!" After the museum, Adam and Pie met up with my parents to go to MOMA. Pie loved the video exhibition and the "painting with the farmer. The green one."

Meantime, Doodles and I went shopping in SoHo. The boy is game, I'll tell you. I haven't really blogged much about it, but I've become quite crafty in my old age ("crafty" in a Martha Stewart way; not a Beastie Boys way). I haven't written much about it primarily because I plan on giving some of my handicrafts as gifts and I don't want any of the surprise given away here. I really wanted to make a pilgrimage to a fabric store I remembered from my days as a New Yorker, and Doodles was actually very well behaved. Of course, we stopped at Evolution and we picked up a pair of glittens for him, but he sat almost patiently while I went through button boxes. We then headed up for the East Village to Tweeds's apartment, which is better than any store for the toys in it. We had to tear Doodles away to head for lunch at Benny's.

And with my quesadilla grande, I'm going to leave you for the moment. No, no meltdowns (yet). Just time to run off to kindergarten pickup....

The Thanksgiving Adventures Begin...

It's a sad comment that we live in a 'burb fifteen minutes outside of Boston, and yet when we say we're going into "the City," we mean New York and we tend to do it about twice as often as we go into Boston.

Normally we host Thanksgiving. It's one of my favorite things to do. Yes, that's right, I enjoy hosting Thanksgiving. I love the planning. I love the cooking. I love the decorating. I even love the cleaning up after and that satisfaction of a fridge full of leftovers. Yes, I am a geek. Yes, my mother will wonder how she raised a daughter like me after that paragraph (rebellion against childhood upbringing, of course).

But, obviously, with our tiny little apartment kitchen, our dining room table in the middle of the living room, and the general disarray of our house life, we're not hosting this year. Next year, ah, next year with my 36" stove and wide counter space... But this year, we decided to make the trek down to the City to have Thanksgiving with my parents and the Tweedle Twirp. Of course, my parents' city apartment is considerably larger than our home apartment, but the kitchen is 1) not that big and 2) completely not set up for cooking. It's set up for getting bagels from Murray's and burgers from New York Burger Company. In preparing what to cook (my mother's exact words, "You can have Thanksgiving at our place. But I'm not doing any cooking!"), I quizzed my father. "Do you have a muffin pan?" I hear rustling and clanking, "Ah, no." "Do you have a baking pan of any size? 8 x 8? 9 x 9? 9 x 13? Even a pie plate?" "Ah...no."

So we're not exactly cooking a full meal. The Tweedle Twirp ordered a turkey, stuffing, gravy, and green beans (who really likes cooking green beans?) from Balducci's. I'm making bourbon-spiked sweet potato (and, yes, I'm going the gauche route and still added marshmallows; the bourbon is for me, the sweet potato is for my kids), sour cream-thyme muffins, and cranberry sauce. Tweeds is baking the pumpkin pie.

There's the background. Yesterday I convinced Adam to work from home. He got up early and got online while I buzzed around like a madwoman. Got Doodles to school. Plopped Pie in front of a very rare morning of TV. Packed. Cleaned. Organized. Got us all out the door and to Doodles's school by 10:30 a.m. ("We're late! Come on, Pie and Adam!" "It's only 10:25. Doesn't it start at 10:45?" Does this man live on some planet where the time is adjusted funny? Whenever I tell him a starting time, he adds at least fifteen minutes to it.)

We make it to his school just on time to see our little pilgrim enter the cafeteria for their big feast. Each class made a part of the feast. Doodles's class made corn bread. Another made soup. One made apple pies. And the fourth made--just like the pilgrims--fruit kabobs. After the feast, all the pilgrims got up and performed for us, such Thanksgiving classics such as "Albuquerque Turkey," "The Tom Tom Song," "There Are Many Things I'm Thankful For," and "Tony Chestnut." The singing ended at 11:14. At exactly 11:14:02 I had those kids in the bathroom and then out the door. We were on the road at 11:22. Which is awesome because apparently a few hours later there was an accident that caused the Pike to close a bit.

We made it down in decent time; we took on short cut and hit traffic outside of New Haven and Hartford and there was one relatively long pit stop when Pie had to pee, but we arrived in the city (meaning we crossed into the Bronx) about 4:30. It took a bit to get into Manhattan proper, but the great moment was when we got lost in Central Park. In my defense, in all my years living in New York, I never, ever drove. Really. Even on my own student film shoots at NYU when I had to rent a van, I got someone else to drive.

Why were we in Central Park in the first place? I had the brilliant idea that Adam would drop me and Pie off to watch the Thanksgiving Day balloons inflate (Doodles was invited as well, but he had no interest). I got the directions from Google Maps, which told us to take the 79th Street transverse. Only the 79th Street transverse was closed. So we entered at 72nd street. Which apparently takes us back up to 110th Street. By 5:30, Pie and I decamped at Central Park West and 81st.

In my mind, I envisioned a casual stroll among the balloons, a little oohing and ahhing, and then a quick subway back for dinner with everyone else. Not quite...

As we got to the corner, where we could see Buzz Lightyear and Spongebob we were stopped by barricades. First we were just stopped as Mayor Bloomberg passed. And then we were stopped as we were told that we had to enter the balloon inflating at 79th and Columbus. Pie was a real trooper and just kept periodically shouting, "New York! Yea, New York!" We headed over to 79th and Columbus. And waited. And waited. In masses and masses of crowds. Just waited. Finally we got to cross over and into the barricades where we got shuffled down to 77th Street.

We were smushed in, but that Pie didn't care. "Where are the balloons? Where are the balloons?" Finally, after about an hour, we made it to the balloons. And Pie was entranced. "Who's that? Who's that?" We saw Pikachu (who I originally said, "Look, it's Homer Simpson!") and Ronald McDonald and Hello Kitty (who I said, "Look! A turkey!") and Dora the Explorer (recognizable at 1000 paces), Snoopy (who I said was, "I have no idea who that is"), the Energizer bunny. At the end of the row was a Smurf. "Pie, I said. That's a smurf!" At that moment we came to a sudden halt (I will say that we were able to get right up to the barricades and see the balloons and it moved at an easy pace) as the mayor gave a press conference. "That's the mayor I told Pie."

Finally we made it down 77th Street. I did gave Pie the choice of going to the balloons on 81st Street or heading back down to the apartment for dinner. She thought about it and decided to head back, which was good because it was already after 7 and I was hungry.

We headed to the subway. You've never seen a kid so excited to be on a subway. "It's the subway! Yea, subway! Why isn't the subway moving? Oh, that's silly! It is! Is this our stop? Is this our stop? Is this our stop? Yea, subway!"

Back at the apartment, we got ourselves some burgers, came back, played. My kids did nap in the car. Their normal bedtime is 7 p.m. At 10:15 Pie finally fell asleep. Doodles fell asleep shortly after.

So 10:15 bedtime. Any guesses on wake up time? Yep, 5:45 for Pie. A cranky 5:45. But she got up. And since she was up, we had the obligatory conversation about whether or not to go see the parade in person (general advice is to arrive by 6:30 a.m. to get a good place to see the 9 a.m. parade). My daughter exhibited a rare moment of wisdom and opted for the TV.

Happily, the Nana was up soon, so Pie had a playmate while Adam and I went back to sleep. I got up just in time for the start of the parade. The kids were very enthusiastic and sure enough, Pie yelled, "I saw that last night. I saw that bunny last night! I saw that star last night!" And as that giant Smurf passed by, that great big blue inflated Smurf, Pie yelled out, "Look! It's the mayor! Doodles, that's the mayor!"

And that's our Thanksgiving until now, 9:30 a.m. Doodles is playing with Tinker Toys. Pie is doing naked tushie dancing in front of the parade on TV. Adam and my father are off picking up a pre-cooked turkey. And we've got a whole weekend ahead of us. Tune in for more turkey adventures. And happy Thanksgiving!

Busy, Busy, Busy

This past week has to have been one of the busiest ones yet. I feel like it was nonstop, and I'm not ready to collapse in a heap at my computer. What have I done? It's all a big blur.

Adam had a night out with friends, I had a night out with friends (hi Elizabeth! It was fun!), I had (have) a job I'm working on, a preschool project that I got suckered into doing, a family Shabbat dinner, a meet-up with a fellow blogger whom I'd never met before but was in Boston for a conference, a women's community Passover seder (no Passover hasn't started--this was a fun, feminist version that involved many tambourines). Throw in some boot camp, a bit o' running, and a zillion chores (dentist appointment? Made. Eye doctor appointment? Made. Camp for Doodles? Taken care of. Car inspection? Done.) and that's what I've been up to.

Oh, and our little trip to New York. But this time for a day. Eight whole hours. Yes, I know how fun that sounds. Surprisingly it was incredibly uneventful and actually quite a success. I almost hesitate to blog about it, because nothing untoward happened.

After not nearly enough sleep, I roused myself from slumber at 5:30 on Saturday morning. Slapped together some sandwiches, woke the rest of the family, and we were on the road by 6:15 a.m. The purpose of the trip was dual fold: My mom has a show up right now at Nohra Haime Gallery (that's it on the walls and on the table in the pic; if you're in NYC go see it--it's up till April 26) and there was a breakfast at 9 a.m. and we thought it would be fun to go to. And then the other reason is it was my dad's birthday (random aside: did anyone else realize that when your parent's age equals the year of your birth, your age will equal the year of his or her birth; so for instance, my dad turned 68. I was born in 1968. And this year I'll turn 40. My dad was born in 1940. Try it--it works).

We made the trip in 3 1/2 hours, having parked and made our way to the gallery by 10 a.m., and my father was dutifully surprised. We spent the morning at the Children's Museum of Manhattan, which was cute but nowhere near the level of the Boston Children's Museum. We had a fabulous deli lunch at Artie's (it's the kind of place that has pickles and slaw on the table for you a la Wolfie's), kids got their subway rides, and then hung out at my parents place. I walked around a bit, hit a flea market. We had cakes from Citarella. At about 6:30 p.m., we put kids in pjs and headed home. Both kids were passed out before we left the Bronx. We were home by 10 p.m.

I wish there was more to tell you. I wish we'd had a meltdown or two or Pie peed somewhere or something, but it was such a manageable trip, I'd consider doing it again.

¿Quién es el más macho? Not Me!!!

When I was 26, I quit a good job, packed up all my belongings, spent three months driving cross country to reinvent myself. When I was settled in Seattle, I'd sometimes look at my life in wonder and think, "Wow, if I could that, I can do anything."

When I was 28, I spent six and a half months picking kiwis on a kibbutz and then I spent a month and a half idling my way through Eastern Europe. When I survived three weeks in Bulgaria, I really felt it was an accomplishment. "If I could make it through Bulgaria on my own," I thought, "I can do anything."

When at the age of 32 I let my guy friends pressure me into riding a single-day double-century bike ride from Seattle to Portland (previous bike ride length at that point: 16 miles), I can't begin to describe the feeling of elation I experienced when I, alone and tired after fourteen hours on a bike, crossed into Portland, Oregon. "I just freakin' rode my bike two hundred miles!" I thought. "I can do anything!"

When at the age of 36, with a fourteen-month-old son, I completed my first marathon, I thought I was a rock star. Sure, it took me over five hours, but I did it. "I ran twenty six point two miles!" I thought. "There is absolutely nothing I can't achieve."

Last week I pushed my boundaries. I left my kids for the first time, I cross-country skied for the first time, I ran in seven degree weather. You guys all know how macho I felt. I am a freakin' woman of steel.

Until. And then. Except.

Somehow, somewhere, for some reason, I decided it was a good idea to take my two children--my two-and-a-half-year-old toddler and my four-and-a-half-year-old preschooler--to New York City. In a car. By myself. For fun.

I have discovered that thing that I cannot do: I cannot survive thirty-six hours alone with my children.

I am broken.

But let me start at the beginning of this debacle. Doodles has been obsessed with Egypt, pharaohs, and pyramids for a long time now. Remember his birthday party? So I got this great idea (please read "great" dripping with sarcasm) of taking him to the Metropolitan Museum to visit the Temple of Dendur. "Wanna go to New York?" I asked him casually. "YES!!!!" came the resounding response.

Truth be told, I dilly dallied on the whole thing. I checked with my parents (who live in NYC part-time) and my sister (who lives there full-time, but works a hectic schedule) if they'd be around. I checked the weather. Hmmm, looks like snow. I thought about it. And then I realized, "This is a really stupid idea." I basically told everyone we weren't coming. "That's probably a good idea," my parents told me. My mother had foot surgery and has been hobbling around on a cane, not ideal for sightseeing with little ones. My sister would be teaching all day. Both my parents are currently spending a lot of their time searching for a bigger apartment.

Alas, the road to insanity is paved with stupid ideas (that's how the expression goes, right?). On Wednesday morning, I was poking around Priceline. It was a gorgeous morning and I thought, "I can handle this!" so before I could come to my senses: Boom! I've booked us a room for two nights in New York.

That's when the panic started. I called Adam, "What the F was I thinking? I can't do this!"

"Don't go," he said.

"I already paid for the hotel room."

"So what? We can eat the cost if we have to."

But I, for one, am never one to "eat the cost," frugal soul that I have, so while Doodles was at a playdate, I frantically packed us up, sinking ever deeper into a depression over my recklessness. After all, what does a four-and-a-half-year-old ever remember? Take a kid on a thousand dollar vacation to Paris, and what he'll talk about is the bug he found crawling across his shoe at the Parisian playground.

So I sent Doodles off on a playdate and I packed up as fast as I could, trying to anticipate everything they'd need. It would have helped if I had tried to anticipate what I might have needed--in which case socks and deodorant might have made their way into my bag, and yes, I was a wee bit ripe by the end of the trip. Yet I wanted to keep everything to my one bag, their ice skating bag (I had visions of Wollman rink), plus toys in each of their backpacks. And a bag of snacks for the car.

The trip down was pretty uneventful. I picked up Doodles from his playdate and cleared up the confusion ("You're taking him to New York to see the temple where the Jews pray?" I clarified it was where the Egyptians prayed, but he didn't quite believe me). Pie slept for about an hour and a half and woke in relatively good spirits. Doodles was thrilled to get Triscuits--Triscuits!!--from a vending machine. Neither one got at all fussy till we'd already hit the Bronx. Including the one bathroom/vending machine stop, we made the trip in just barely over four hours. Found the hotel with no problem. Parking was just two blocks away. Trip is already a success!

We hop a subway to head to my parents' apartment. Pie utters the comment she is to make every time we get onto the subway, "I LIKE the subway!" and Doodles scrambles for a window seat, despite my repeated insistence that we are underground and there is nothing to see! "Yes there is!" he insists. "Look! A wall!"

Dinner a Benny's Burritos (the West Village one) is fine, although surprise surprise both kids make a dinner of chips. We leave my parents at about seven to head back to the hotel. "I LIKE the subway!" "I need a window seat!"

Out of the subway. Walking back to the hotel. And then it starts. The screams. "I want to go home!!!!" I assure Pie we'll be back at the hotel in minutes. "No, HOME! I want to go home! RIGHT NOW!" For two blocks the munchkin is screaming and she won't be appeased till we get back to the room and I turn on the TV. I make up a lovely nest for them on the floor--they're so excited to sleep on the sleeping bag!--and in three seconds, they've happily ensconced themselves in the bed. So much for spacious living. Of course, Pie is incapable of falling asleep without some tears, and she cries for about thirty minutes, while I lie right next to her, ignoring her as I read my book. It's really the only thing to do.

And then, they're all asleep. It's not easy to sleep with the two monkeys next to me. They end up head to head with each other, all cozied up, and then the next thing I feel is four little feet kicking my side as they're lying perpendicular to me. But at least I can stop worrying about one of them falling out of the bed and I can drift off...

...until 2 a.m. Which is when the screaming started. Did you guys know that there is no toddler-appropriate TV on at 2 a.m.? Really! I know it's shocking. I didn't know how to calm the munchkin who has not only woken me and her brother, but I'm pretty sure is waking the whole hotel. So for an hour, she gets to watch The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. It was the most appropriate thing I could find.

At 4 a.m., she drifts off into sleep, and I'm determined to eat the second night's hotel cost and head back. Yet, at 8 a.m., when everyone is awake, I feel delirious from lack of sleep and think, "We can make it one more night. Right?"

Surprisingly, the day was somewhat of a success. The kids loved the Met. Doodles was fascinated by the mummies and the Temple of Dendur and Pie seemed to enjoy the Degas collection (one of her favorite books is Dancing with Degas). My mother met us for a bit and Tweeds came when my mom left. We had lunch at the museum and when Tweeds had to go to work, the kids and I took a bus down a ways ("I LIKE the bus!") and I let them go hog wild in Dylan's Candy Bar.

Back at the hotel room around 3, and there were no complaints when I let them gorge themselves on their candy and watch PBS. Pie was tired--I didn't bring a stroller out with us--but she revived quickly when presented with chocolate. I didn't revive quite so quickly. The wear and tear of corralling those two through the museum ("Don't touch that! Don't wander off! No, you can't eat in the museum! No I won't buy that! Don't touch! Don't touch! DON'T TOUCH!") took a toll on me and all I could do was let them rest so that I could have a minute of downtime ("Mommy are you going to sleep? No, Mommy!" Pie says laughing. "You have to wake up! WAKE UP, MOMMY!!") We met my parents for dinner again and Pie told them her favorite part of the day was, "I like the Degas," and Doodles told them, "I got to watch TV... during the day!"

On Friday a snow storm was predicted so I wanted to get out of town nice and early. It was nothing major--just two to four inches--but I figured why risk traffic and snow. Of course, by the time we woke up at 6:45 a.m., three inches had already fallen and five to seven inches was expected, so I rushed the kids through their hotel breakfast ("Can I have a yogurt? Can I have an orange? Can I have more cereal? Can I have a bagel with cream cheese? Can I have another waffle?" and "Just a waffle for me. Okay a little cereal. No milk in it!"), and I managed to trudge through the snow with Pie in the stroller, the skate bag around my neck ("Why didn't we go ice skating?" "Uh, I took you for candy instead." "Okay!"), the clothing bag also around my neck, and the diaper bag hanging precariously as I discovered that, no, a $10 umbrella stroller cannot make it through the corner snow banks. But we got back to the car, and headed out in the mess.

The trip home was painfully slow--I skidded a few times on I-95, the snow was so bad--and the kids were edgy. At one point, I'm on the Triboro bridge, looking for signs for the Bruckner expressway. I'm trying desperately to see through the snowy fog and the moron car in front of me doesn't have his lights on, making him nearly invisible. The snow is coming down fast, and I need to make sure I don't accidentally head toward the George Washington bridge. I've shushed the kids as I'm trying to not skid across the road, but I keep hearing a "Mommy! Mommy. MOMMY!" and finally I yell back, "What, Pie? I'm trying to concentrate here," and she asks, "Can you open my window?" and then adds, "Pleeeeaaaase?"

The "No," didn't go over that well. So she then turns to her brother: "Doodles? Doodles! DOOOOODLES! Are you awake, Doodles?" As if he had a choice.

Just over five hours later, we've arrived home. Of course, I needed to shovel my way into the driveway, as the storm followed us, but soon we were inside, ready to collapse. Pictures, by the way, are posted.

Would I do it again? Sure. In three years. With a nanny. And a lobotomy.