***After seeing a few sites and grabbing some hotdogs and ice cream from a vendor, it was time for Karie and Lori to leave for their meeting with Mr. Beck.*** (Switch to 1st person narrative)
Karie and Lori drop us off at one of the (many) Central Park playgrounds and are gone. Suddenly I'm on my own with three rambunctious little boys in quite possibly the LEAST child-friendly city in the country.
Now, two summers ago when we stayed in the city for a week, I was alone with the boys all day while Doug was at "work". But then I only had two boys. And since I have two hands, that was okay. But now I have three boys (see where I'm going with this?) and I do not have three hands. (Nor did I bring the kid-tether a.k.a. kid-leash.)
None-the-less, things are going great. The big boys are having a blast and Gabe is loving the baby swing.
Even potty breaks are no problem. In fact, the big boys don't even bother to consult me when they need to go!
Then things take a serious turn. Sam needs to go potty.
But not "pee-pee" this time. If you see what I mean.
So we need to find an actual potty fast. I may let my kids pee in public, but I have SOME limits!
I look at a map posted near the entrance of the playground. I see "The Met". (cue spotlight and choirs of angels singing "Ahhhhhh!!!")
I think: "It doesn't look too far away. And I'll bet the bathrooms there are better than park bathrooms. Plus, I just want to go back to "The Met". (How hip am I for calling it "The Met"?)
Gabe and Sam are dumped into the double stroller, Max grabs on, and off we go. I walk about 10 long, hot blocks before asking someone carrying a museum bag how much further it is.
Answer: 12 more blocks.
Max is whining, dragging his feet, and begging to rest. We stop for a minute.I think about giving up and heading back into the park to find a bathroom so I ask a vendor where the nearest restroom is.
He says--while gesticulating in a North-North East-South Westernly direction--"Over down der".
I ralley the troops and we keep going towards the museum.
Did I mention it was 12 more blocks?
Did I mention that Sam+Gabe+DraggingMax+Stroller+2 backpacks=MeTired?
Eventually, we make it to The Met and it is a beautiful sight to behold. All except the huge stone stairway leading up to the front entrance. That for me and the stoller...not so welcoming. Fortunately, they have a Wheelchair/Stoller entrance. (Possibly the only one in a 17 mile radius.)
Once inside we head straight for the nearest bathroom where Sam informs me he no longer needs to go #2. I believe his exact words were "No! I dough need to sit down! I dough need go poopoo's! Just peepee's, Mom."
WELL WE COULD HAVE JUST TAKEN CARE OF THAT IN THE BUSH!!!
But whatever. We're here. Where I wanted to be.
Except it's not even remotely close to anywhere the boys want to be.
And then, I'm blessed with a miracle. (Cue spot light and choir of angels singing "Ahhhhhh!")
Only I'm not going to tell you what the miracle is.
Because it's 1:30 in the morning and, despite it being Mother's Day, I will have to wake up and go to church in a few short hours where I get to teach Max's class of 12-28 six-year-olds.
And because I'm so tired it's taking me an average of 14.3 minutes per sentence and I'm pretty sure my spelling and puctuation have begun to suffer horribly.
So as much as I wanted to finish this dang post, it'll have to be continued.