Home

They say you can never go home again. Well that's not true, I went home last week.

And if you're lucky like me, your room will still have all your high school pictures framed in it so you can be reminded that you were once much skinnier and your kids can ask about the not daddy pictures still on display.

Here's a few random thoughts about my visit:

We used to have a nice van. This is what the van looked like after 8 hours in the car with two toddlers.

And packing for two toddlers is like touring with Britney Spears. Seriously, we were gone for four days.

The zoo serves beer. This is genius. My mom, who forgot her glasses and just had eye surgery, was somehow able to spot a lone beer tap 50 yards away behind a concession stand. It was impressive. It's a super power I hope to have one day.

Granted, the beers were $6.25 a piece, but it made it much easier to have this conversation 98 times.

"Can I pet it?"
"No, that thing would rip your arm off."
"Oh. Can I take it home?"
"Still no."

(For clarification I had this conversation with my three year old, not with my mom.)

You can feed a giraffe at the zoo. For $3 you get three pieces of lettuce. Three. I felt like I was at Whole Foods.

Going snail hunting also looks like harvesting mounds of poop. Here's Harper with my little sister holding snails. Or poop. You decide.

My brother and sister-in-law have one baby yet they both carried a diaper bag when they came over. At first I thought it was a bit much. But then I got to wondering what they had that I don't have. I bet they have secret non mediocre parent things in their diaper bags. I just started watching The Walking Dead (yes I realize I'm late to the bandwagon), and it's caused me to look at people differently. I want to be near those two should a zombie apocalypse happen. I feel like they'll be prepared.

Speaking of preppers, my older sister might be one also. She brought a pool bag with her one day. Here's a list of the contents: swim suits, towels, water bottles, a box of frozen fettuccine alfredo. I have no explanation for this.

Also Sweet Violet has to be the only kid on the planet that doesn't cry during the eight hours in the car, but then cries for six straight hours once we reach our destination. Thanks for the memories Violet.

Harper the Brave caught her first fish with my dad. In theory that is a happy occasion. In reality, it has created an addict. I get hit with a plastic hook at least twice a day because she's "practicing" casting. The dogs don't even come out of their cages anymore.

Like any visit home, there are people we didn't get to see and people we didn't get to see enough of. When I'm home, I simultaneously feel that I haven't been home long enough and that I have been home too long and need to get the kids back on their schedules and routines before they become monsters. 

And like any family, there is always the occasional unsolicited advice. But with that advice comes their unwavering, unconditional love. Knowing that I could be having the best day of my life or the worst day ever and this group of crazies will love me and my girls exactly the same, with as much enthusiasm, on both days, is an amazing feeling. And for that, I am forever grateful. 

NYC Hates Babies (Part 2)

The girls at Bryant Park.

Not having learned my lesson the first time, the girls and I ventured back into New York City, this time with Erin and her almost two-year-old son, Patrick. We were headed to Bryant Park because they were having a Broadway concert series that day. We secured a small table and pulled up four chairs for me, Erin, Harper and Patrick. Violet would eat her lunch sitting in the stroller next to us.

Not two minutes after we sat down someone walked up and asked if we needed all four chairs.
"Yep, we'll be using all our chairs," I said with a smile and went back to digging through my purse. A couple minutes later someone asked again. And then someone else. And every time they seemed truly confused, and somewhat annoyed, that only two adults would need four chairs.

"Can I take one of these?" Someone else asked with his hand already on the chair.

"No. Move on," I said. My patience was at a low.

"Really? Jeez," he said.

"There are four humans here!"

It might have been a bit much. But the lady two tables over with a shitzu sitting next to her wasn't bothered once, from what I saw.

The funny thing is, kids hate sitting. They are allergic to sitting. So the whole time I'm fighting the good fight, contemplating making "Kids are People Too" shirts, at least one of the kids was not in their highly coveted chairs. I perhaps picked the wrong cause.

After lunch we went sight seeing. Here's Harper at the Empire State Building and Madison Square Garden. She was riveted.

In Macy's at Herald Square we decided it'd be a good time for a bathroom break. We walked up to a man folding shirts and asked where the closest bathroom was.

"The men's bathroom is right over there," he said.

I looked at myself (a girl), Erin (a girl), Harper (a girl), Violet (a girl) and Patrick (not a girl).

"You're in the men's department," he said for clarification.

Apparently if you work in the men's department at Macy's, the location of all other non-men bathrooms are kept top secret. I've been trying to teach Harper to only get the urge to use the restroom in gender appropriate areas, but apparently she isn't getting it.

After finding the restroom on our own, we headed out. The kind doorman saw us coming with our strollers and happily opened the door for us.

"Here ya go," he said and handed Erin Patrick's shoe that had dropped on the ground.

"Oh thanks! I didn't even know he took them off," she said.

"Eh, small brains," he replied.

I thought I heard him wrong, but Erin agreed she heard "small brains" too.  I'm not sure if he was insulting kids or women, though. I'd probably be able to figure it out, if only my brain weren't so annoyingly small...

The rest of the day went just fine. We got a lot of "Wow, you have your hands full" comments, which aren't exactly insults, but seem a little misplaced considering the parent to kid ratio was 2:3. The guy in the pizza shop told me to stop yelling at him when I ordered our pizza. Not sure what that was about. And Erin got her picture taken by someone who she thinks writes for a what not to wear blog. Here's Erin reenacting the photo:

But none of this matters because I had a blast those few days visiting New York. And I'd go back in a heartbeat. I could explore a paper bag with Erin and still have an awesome time. But since open letters seem to be popular on social media, here's mine:

An Open Letter to New York City

Dear NYC,

Go to hell.

Sincerely,

Laura