Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Home again

We're back from NYC! I'm too tired and have too much laundry staring me in the face to do a full recap right now, so here are a few highlights from our trip:

Worst smell: The homeless guy who had clearly crapped in his pants just before sitting down two seats behind me at the Delta baggage claim area.

Longest walk: 31 blocks from our hotel to my BIL's apartment in Chelsea.

Best $40 spent: The carriage ride G and I took through Central Park. Red and yellow leaves drifting serenely from the trees, the horse's hooves clip-clopping along -- it was like being inside a film about autumn in New York.

Most expensive cab ride: $18 to get from West 21st and Seventh to 92nd and Lexington.

Most postcard-like sight: The view from the picture windows on the third floor of the American Museum of Natural History.

Most fun had with G: Either the carriage ride or shopping on Fifth Avenue.

Most fun had without G: Seeing Waves at the Duke on 42nd.

Number of friends met up with: Three

Sight G wanted to see that we didn't get to: The Empire State Building

Cheapest meal: $6 for two slices of pizza and two sodas at one of the 2,948(ish) places named "Ray's Pizza."

Most expensive meal: $27 for a grilled cheese sandwich and kids' pasta from the Hilton New York room-service menu.

Most unappetizing restaurant name spotted: "Hot and Crusty"

Cutest dog: My BIL's eight-month-old Corgi puppy, Max. We spent last night at his place, and Max tried to sleep between me and G with his ginormous head next to ours on the pillows. Aww!

Worst "we're screwed" moment: Coming out of the Met at 7:30 at night and discovering that it was pouring rain and there was not a cab to be had anywhere.

Biggest triumph: Figuring out how to get back to our hotel on the bus instead.

Greatest regret: Not staying an extra day.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

On our way

Yet another item to add to the ever-growing list titled Strange Things My Child Has Caused Me to Say:

"Stop tying your legs together and finish packing your suitcase!"

... Yeah, I'm not sure what she was doing either.

Anyway, as is no doubt apparent, G and I are getting ready to leave on a trip. She's old enough now to be helpful (when she's not busy lashing her limbs to each other) in that she can pack her own suitcase and carry-on bag. However, I still have to come in afterward and inspect her work to make sure she hasn't packed shorts for 40-degree weather or thrown in 10 shirts and no underwear.

She's also been known to try to pack things that are, shall we say, unnecessary. I feel for her -- when I was her age, we moved from Texas to California, and I whined and cried until my dad agreed to let me transport my papier-mâché Thanksgiving turkey craft all 1,560 miles in the hatchback of our car -- but I'm not letting her stuff her bag with random items until it's so heavy she can't carry it, either.

(I know. I am a mean, mean mother. So mean that I'm taking her on a thrilling trip to the world's greatest city, where she'll be ice-skating at Rockefeller Plaza, riding in a horse-drawn carriage through Central Park, and getting her own American Girl doll. Oh, the humanity!)

On another note, I don't know about anyone else, but every single time we go anywhere, I reach a point in the preparation process where it all seems like too much work and I wish we were just staying home. It doesn't matter how far we're going, how long we're staying or how much fun we're likely to have. We can be driving 90 minutes to spend the night at my mother's house or flying across the country for a week, and sometime in the last 48 hours before departure, I will still look around at the chaos and think Wah, I don't want to! I thought that at about eight o'clock last night and we're taking a red-eye flight this evening, so things are pretty much running par for the course. At least I'm consistent.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Been caught scanning

Carrying on the theme of photos from a few months ago, here's one of me and my sister, circa about 1992:

If I look like I could be her mother, it's because I could -- I was in college when she was born. Now she's turning 18 next month, which is just shocking and shouldn't be allowed. I am not old enough to have a grown-up child!

Oh, wait. I am that old.

Dang it.

Tuesday, November 04, 2008