Apologies for the infrequency of postings of late. The end of the term and its accompanying flurry of work and a recent trip out east have left little time for writing lists of stuff that irritates me.
Child #2 rides the subway
Child #1 looks out over New York Harbor
Wife-a-roo, and Children #1 and #2 and I flew to New York last Wednesday. Wife-a-roo had a job interview with some sexy research outfit doing even sexier research than she usually does. Since they paid for her flight and we had access to an empty apartment courtesy of one of her investment-banky cousins,* we decided to make a trip of it.
Both children were surprisingly good travelers. The flight out was completely without incident except for when Child #1 was informed that he would have to remove his shoes in the security line. This prompted an on-the-floor screaming (and sock-footed) fit much to the delight of our fellow travelers behind us waiting for their own chance to do the TSA tango. Calm was restored on the other side of security when Child #1 was re-shod as he choked back the tears of rage and humiliation of having to go sock footed in public for 1.5 minutes.
We stayed in Manhattan near Gramercy park for two days. Wife-a-roo had her interview which went well. We saw an old friend from college. We ordered freakin' awesome takeout.
On Friday, Wife-a-roo's father drove down from ye olde New Hampshire homestead to meet up with us. We had lunch at Veselka, a Ukrainian restaurant in the village. Then we piled into his ancient Volvo and went out the Mid-town tunnel to the Long Island Expressway to go stay for a couple of nights at the North Shore Home of Wife-a-roo's aunt.
A brief note on Wife-a-roo's family and their relationship to cars. They kill them. Dead. Grandpa's Volvo has 323,000 miles on it. The air-conditioning is kaput. It was 90 degrees and humid on the L.I.E. outbound on a Friday afternoon. Then the car overheated.
So we had a little picnic in a cloverleaf under a tree while tow trucks and rescue vehicles were called. The tow-truck driver, the most Brooklyniest denizen that his fair borough has ever produced graciously and illegally allowed Wife-a-roo and I to hold the children in our laps in the cab of the wrecker while Grandpa kept his head down riding in the car behind us. We were delivered to a gas station in easternmost Queens and Aunt Janet came to collect us.
I assume that after breaking down on the Long Island Expressway at rush hour on a Friday with two children under the age of three and not enough drinks should pretty well insulate me from any car-breakdown fears for the rest of my natural life. If we survived that (and in pretty good humor) there's not too much that we can't take.
We spent a couple of mercifully peaceful days out on Long Island and flew home Sunday with less beatific children. Child #2 (who has not blown out a diaper in months) went through two outfits on the plane and after a truly operatic screaming performance during landing, emerged in the Twin Cities airport wearing nothing but a diaper and a smile.
*You know what they say: once you have one apartment in Manhattan, you just HAVE to get a hold of another one.
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