The problem with writing so intermittently is that it takes too long to bring you up to speed. By “you” I mean me, my diary, just a recap of it all. There’s too much to remember. Like how at the airport, while breezing through security, I told the kids to sit down and take off their shoes. Luke handed me his sneakers; Abigail placed hers on the conveyor belt. I was struggling with putting the laptop and various “i” products into their own bin when Abigail handed me HER SHIRT. Wha? Yes, off her back. There she was in her tights and corduroy skirt, and nothing else.

And those are the stories you tell over and again, boring the eyeballs out of the future love of her life. “And did I tell you about the time when…”

There’s Vegas to discuss, old friends, food friends, and love (the show and the verb). Lazy happy love. A surprise, tears, and a saleswoman. But I’m too lazy to go there today. I will soon because I want the record. But for now, there’s too much to cross off a New York to-live list… despite the fact that in the past few days we’ve crammed so much in, including Abigail milking a cow, Luke riding a pony, Abigail holding a *Silkie* Chicken, decorating our own pumpkins (and cookies), and what Children’s Halloween Party would be complete without Mama being THE ONLY ADULT to show up in costume? Because that’s just the kind of mom I am. And by “mom” I mean exhibitionist. 

Today, Wednesday: another day in New York. This time it’s not an all girl day, just a mostly girl day in New York (Sir Luke is out-femmed). I have some all new Ideal New York stops up my sleeve this go-round. My sister Lea and I are grabbing the beans and heading to Chinatown, threading our way to SoHo, then to Books of Wonder, up to FAO. There’s a Wizard of Oz exhibit, but it’s not in our schedule. What is: the subway. That’s right, my badass chitlin’s and I will be feelin’ fine on the 1 and 9 (at Columbia there was actually a first-year orientation dedicated to just that: feeling fine on the subway).

Also on my list, you know, if there’s room for any of it:

The Meatball Shop Because BALLS are just a swinging good time, people!

Kitchen Arts & Letters My soul soars here. I become alive and could die here. Irony.

MakeMeaning (this is my idea of a heaven… you know, along with being able to eat any and everything while becoming more tone and fit with every bite)

We’ll see how the day goes with the monsters. I can’t wait to experience all their New York firsts with them! Where would YOU go? I might need the ideas… kid, food, and fashion ideas all welcome!