Just returned from NYC for our early Father's Day visit -- one of a few obligatory family (ob-fam) trips. Here are the highlights:
- It took about 3.5 hours to get to Greenwich Village (for a pit-stop at my mother's to use the bathroom, even though Mom wouldn't be home). Finally got up to her floor, with two squirming kids in tow, only to find that my keys no longer worked. What does it mean when your mother changes the locks and forgets to tell you?
- It took another 45 minutes to get to my father's apartment (roughly two miles away). I don't know if it was the Second Avenue Fair by itself or if about a million people decided out of the blue to all loiter on the East Side, but pedestrian traffic was something out of Henry Ford's worst nightmare. Entire avenues were blocked off, thanks to the throngs of individuals who insisted on ignoring the heat, humidity, and overall sardine-like nature of walking in crowds in NYC.
- After spending about two hours with my father (in his tiny studio apartment, with two hyperactive kids and an understandably grumpy Loving Husband), we had to pack it up because said two hyperactive kids reached Meltdown. This is a topic unto itself, but those of you out there with Tax Deductions don't need any definition. For those without Tax Deductions, picture Linda Blair from The Exorcist. Split Pea soup optional.
- It took 2.5 hours to drive from NYC to Brooklyn. After 20 minutes in the car, Loving Husband started getting aggressive. Drivers paled when they saw us approaching. When I asked him about his Get-Outta-My-Way , he said, "Do you want burned lasagne?" Um, no. So we road-raged it for another 5 minutes...and then hit standstill traffic. God is whimsical, make no mistake about it.
- Finally, we got to my In Laws' house. I grabbed the Tax Deductions, and we hustled up the front steps while Loving Husband scared up a parking space. And we rang the doorbell. And knocked. And rang. And knocked again. Finally, I called my Mother In Law. No answer. really.
- Five minutes later, my Father In Law opened the door. They were all downstairs in Great Grandma's apartment, with the television on and the AC full blast, so they didn't hear us. So they said. That's their story, and they're sticking with it.
- The lasagne wasn't burned. I had two helpings. During dinner, my Grandmother In Law asked why the younger of our two Tax Deductions wasn't eating. I told her that I hadn't gotten up to that part of the Parental Manual yet.
Anyway, I could continue, but I'm too damn tired. I think I left my sense of humor back at my dad's. Dang. That means another trip back to the city...
2 Comments:
and again...when people tell me I don't know what I'm missing that I don't have kids of my own...
((grin))
Kids are the most frustrating thing about being a parent. And damned worth it. I love my boys, even when they drive me crazy. Which, as we all know, is a damned short trip anyway...
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