What is this thing I can’t put my finger on?
Yesterday was such a full day, a big day, from taking the train into the City to walking around and doing the tree and the windows and the Radio City Christmas Spectacular. I’m talking, we sat through a 90 minute show here, during which you guys clapped in the right places and oohed and aahed and said “bravo!” We went to the American Girl store and you did not throw tantrums wanting every doll there. We went to St. Patrick’s Catherdral and you were not bored. We let candles by St. Bernard, Poppy’s middle name, and I read the part of his little bio to you that always made me laugh, “‘he had four brothers and sisters, and 27 friends‘…isn’t that funny, guys? Like how did they know that? Did somebody count? Not twenty-six, not twenty-eight…” You guys laughed, too. I am beginning to think you’re learning to humor me.
Nanny and Aunt Krissy were with us, and I trekked them all over the City. “Just tell me, how much walkin’ are you gonna make me do?” Aunt Krissy asked the night before.
“Well, don’t wear high heels,” I warned.
Recalling all the times I’ve similarly dragged them all over Manhattan when I lived there, from combing downtown for my wedding dress, the upper east side for bridesmaid dresses, even registering around and around Buy Buy Baby on 23rd Street was an ordeal, I was prepared for a day of complaining–especially with two strollers and a diaper bag that have been storing a small cheetah in tow.
Yesterday there was no complaining.
There was one little whine of I’m hungry, but it was 4:30 p.m., a time when everyone is hungry and could use a little something (you’ll see one day if you work in an office; if you’re assistants, this will be the time of your designated coffee run, and no, you won’t be above getting someone else’s coffee, you’ll be twenty-two, you won’t know everything, no).
Dinner was awesome. Your dad met us at 5:30 p.m., right on time, just like he said he would. You ran into his arms when you saw him. We sat in a booth by the window overlooking Columbus Circle. You yelled “taxi!” to the cars zooming below. When you got antsy, I told you to look out the window and look for a bus, and you did.
Before leaving we put your pajamas on, and you fell asleep in the car ride home…
In a season when we go and go and it’s very easy to see things as chores. I gotta go here. To do that. And then finish this. Things that are supposed to be fun–come on, kids, we’re going to see Santa at the mall on a gridlock alert day, who-hoo!–can be easily met with eye rolls and described as “torture.”
And sometimes, they are.
Even reading this I want to unleash my inner cynic, say something like “are we the Cleaver’s?,” or my favorite, I’m going to throw up in my mouth.
We had such a nice day yesterday. Thank you for reminding me that sometimes, things just work out.