'Same Time, Next Year'

If you remember that 1978 Alan Alda movie, you will recall that George met his mistress [Ellen Burstyn] every year in Mendocino for a tryst. That's basically what we have working -- a Memorial Day weekend tradition that is more scourge than scandal, one that visits every year -- same time, same place.

Last year, forever imprinted on my consciousness, Harry hurled on me as we stood on the Arlington Cemetery Metro platform, depositing vomit from neck to ankles, mine. The horrified looks I got from travelers, mostly childless, were priceless.

This year we've been visited by a family-shared respiratory chest plague. It has morphed over the last week but has left us with a viscous cough that makes visiting with friends dicey lest we be strung-up as Typhoid Marys.

So far we have missed the last day of preschool, one birthday party, one swim lesson, one trip to Gymboree, a family trip to the pool and now, a much-anticipated Memorial Day BBQ. Sigh.

Other than a cough that makes sleep tough, everyone feels fine at this point, mostly fine, aside from a little isolated. Yesterday, to celebrate Memorial Day we took the tots to Alexandria's National Cemetery (the oldest in the nation), where we sat in the broiling sun, coughing, watching a VFW presentation. As it happens we were sitting in front of the graves of three men who drown in the Potomac in pursuit of John Wilkes Booth. Creepy. Cool. Being a bit under the weather really suits Harry who was a model citizen, cuddling with me on the grass, consenting to whisper, until the 30-minute event was over. He stood when Taps was played and then, once the coast was clear, gleefully slid on his stomach down a steep grass slope.

Once home, trying to figure out how to spend our self-exile from the night's BBQ, we set up the sprinkler and let Harry run amok. Charlotte was dubious, and instead played with the bubble maker, "singing" a fine rendition of "Wheels on the Bus" using just one word for lyrics: "bubbles." I got it on video, and when I get my act together grandma, I will upload it. (I am ashamed that my children will have less video of their childhood than I did...how is that possible?)

In the meantime, we are happy to be together in our collective germiness. Harry WILL be better by the first day of summer camp (tomorrow) or I will give up editing and apply to med school).

We hope it was a happy Memorial Day for all. We miss you....really.

New York State of Mind

We love our trips to New York, our "beach house," as we refer to it in the face of so many friends who enjoy vacation homes on the shore. Ours is a studio owned by the Barnes', just off Central Park West, that we use when Paul's folks are otherwise occupied. Thank you for being otherwise occupied!

It rocks: the proximity to the parks and the mind-blowingly-awesome playgrounds with water features, and the myriad toddler fascinations -- the petting zoo, enormous rocks to climb, the musicians and puppeteers, the terrific pizza and take-in (Shun Lee I still love you), the Natural History Museum with its dino bones and and dazzling exhibits (we enjoyed the live butterfly conservatory this time around -- thank you ZaZa -- terrified as I was that Harry would squash one of the beauties).

Mostly we just love being together someplace other than home where duties so easily detract from playtime. We stumbled upon a great place to grab lunch that if you're visiting with kids, you must try: the Shake Shack. There's a tee-shirt they sell inside and the sentiment is right-on -- "I waited nine months, maybe this line isn't so bad." So worth the wait for delish (trans-fat and preservative -free) hot dogs and fries. Next time, we dive into the milkshakes which looked killer.

This time we also shared germs, festering, miserable germs, that so far have resulted in fluid in Harry's ears, a spiked fever for baby Charlotte, a wicked chest cold for me, something additionally unpleasant for Harry that I'd rather not type but involves many, many diaper changes, and now a cacophonous cough that attacked me and now, the Harry. Good times.

Still, seriously, there is nothing finer than snuggling with my kids at night in the Murphy bed, "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" style. Loooove it. Perhaps we should scrap the bedroom thing at home and go with a family bed.

Service, Please....

We've never used baby sign language with the kids. Charlotte, who puts all of our in-house communication skills to shame, made our case on Sunday. Sauntering over to the diaper bag, she dug out the changing pad, brought it to the center of the room, opened it and lay it flat. Then what did she do? She lay down on top of it.

Three guesses as to her intent:

1. She wanted a massage
2. She was doing baby yoga
3. She had a dirty diaper

Very skeptically I peered inside her diaper. DUH mom. Indeed she needed a change. Is it too early to phone Yale?

Taxi!

Nothing beats a boat ride (the biased boating magazine editor speaks) when you're a kid. Or an adult with a megayacht. But I digress. We rode the Potomac River Water Taxi on Sunday to picnic at National Harbor. The high point, after riding the waves, was surely hanging with the Awakening, this very freaky sculpture that was moved from Virginia to Maryland to anchor the new National Harbor development.

We are happy to report that during the trip the captain was forced to get on the loudspeaker and scold a toddler for climbing the rail mid-ride. It was not our child! Small victories.

Freeze Frame

Giving a camera to a toddler is a lot like handing a typewriter (old school) to a monkey -- work hard enough and you're going to see results.

Unbeknownst to me, Harry swiped my compact digital Cannon and snapped 193 photos. After figuring out which was the business end of the camera (think: self-portrait), he went about shooting some of his favorite things. He gave heavy preference to his trains (111 pictures), then his family (3 photos). In lieu of a gallery show, I give you Harry's first exhibit (edited by mom). Not half bad, says I.

Mother's Day

I want to tell you that I enjoyed breakfast in bed on my third mother's day. I had breakfast in bed. I now have breakfast on my bed. But it was indeed very entertaining: juggling a tray of lovely food while trying to feed two kids who had crawled up to witness the spectacle of mom eating while tucked-in. (They too wanted to drink orange juice from the glass and yogurt without bibs.)










Harry presented me with his preschool efforts - a plaster cast of his hand and a flower card, which I will cherish. Charlotte was the bearer of some wooden cookie cutters shaped like beautiful blossoms, just like her. I am so blessed.


We picnic every year and the weather was perfect for a trip back to the scene of our first mother's day, the U.S. National Arboretum, where we sat in the shade of a grove of State trees and nibbled on sandwiches and drank champagne. Perhaps gobbled is the right word because Harry was eager to go on a bear hunt. "Mommy!" he kept yelling "We've got trouble!" his new favorite line from Toy Story, which loosely translated means: get off your tush woman, we have to take a walk into the forest. Harry armed himself with a walking stick, looking very much like a young Gandalf.









Traipsing through the buttercups, we swishy-swashied our way through the long grass and hiked around the meadows well into nap time. It was the perfect afternoon spent with my most cherished possessions.



I hope it was a wonderful mother's day for all of our favorite moms.

Throwing Stones...In a Good Way

After a super-fun swim party hosted by our friend Morgan, a newly-minted 3-year
-old, we headed over to Daingerfield Island to check out the boats. There we discovered a great little beach for throwing rocks.

We were entertained by ducks and an enormous buoy (the size of a Vespa), raggedy sailboats on the hard and a pretty good windsurfer (not as good as Uncle Jimmy, mind you), who battled strong winds to stay upright and crisscross the river. The kids were fascinated, Harry yelling 'hey you! what are you doing out there?!?`