This is a tiny part of my parents' huge and green backyard.
This is the side yard of the church I attended in my childhood. My kids are running (with delight) from the graveyard where many adored adults of my youth are laid to rest and where my folks have a plot (just down the lawn from Norman Vincent Peale).
Mom and the minions.
This is Professor Fuzzbucket. His actual name is JJ (named after my dad -- John Junior) and he will have nothing to do with the kids. But he tolerates Froggy Friend.
Every night after I wrangled the kids into bed with the help of the folks, I texted Evan pictures of Arlo taking up his side of the bed. He's pretty delicious.
It's a weird thing when you realize how beautiful your hometown (that you spent 20 years trying to escape) is. I kept exclaiming to my mom that I would actually PAY to vacation here!
Off to the lake, after a couple days of solid rain.
There are lovely opportunities for twilight walks.
That's where Uncle Brian had his treehouse.
That's where I was convinced Ozma was checking up on me in her Magic Mirror.
Here's Oscar B. checking out the rings on a newly-cut tree.
The Goose, frolicking in the foliage.
Arlo discovering new seed pods.
Someone's been growing her hair. A couple nights after this picture was taken, someone's older brother decided to smash a wad of gum into her hair. That was a fun evening for Mama.)
We visited the Poughkeepsie Children's Museum after a FABULOUS Greek diner lunch (you know, the kind of diner with an inch-thick menu? Ye gods, I miss Greek diners) and the kids dived in.
The Goose adored the Radio Disney booth. She played the Hannah Montana song 17 times in a row.
Arlo makes a fine fireman. Although my knowledge of Hudson Valley fireman is based on the annual Fireman's Carnival, so basically he's a drunk who drinks Coors Light and pees all over the tennis courts at the Y.
(Hudson Valley fireman are nearly all volunteers and are highly trained and hugely dedicated.)
The Goose and I built a fairy house on the weeping willow that was my favorite tree as a child. I built and hung a swing on this tree; I played Barbies in its roots when I was really too old to be doing so.
Tiana and Winder Woman lived quite happily in their fairy hut.The Goose and I sang about the weeping willow as we plucked flowers and fabricated stories.
We picked wild strawberries and tucked them into the birdhouses as a wee sacrifice.
Saturday! Oscar and I took the loooooong train in from Brewster North. Or Southeast. Or whatever they are calling it these days.
Oscar B and I puttered around Grand Central for a bit. We marveled over the dirty brink in the main room, we whispered in the Whispering Gallery. But mostly we went in for the oysters.
Oscar checks out the vaulted ceilings that his young parents used to mack out under.
Whispering to Gretta.
Oysters!
Handsome boy and loving grandma.
Pretty much my favorite place in the world.
We walked up to Loretta and Jim's apartment and hung out for a bit. Then Oscar and I grabbed a cab to the Met. "Why are all these people on the stairs? Why are there all those small food trucks? Why do I need to wear this metal button?"
I tried to get Oscar to read The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler beforehand, but he only got a couple chapters in. I still pointed out sarcophagi that Claudia and her brother hid their instrument cases in.
I always loved those expressive paintings of faces on the Roman mummies. I also always thought that Oscar looked like one of those moody long lost Romans, with his big brown eyes and mop of hair.
Making a wish at my second favorite place in the world.
I asked a nice guy sitting on the rocks to take this picture of Oscar and me. I have this exact picture of the two of us when he was 9 months old and wearing black velvet overalls.(I'll try and find it in my archives and I'll add it to the blog.)
We went on the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Frankweiler tour.
Up on the roof top. Oscar's dad and I had our first date-not-really-before-we-could-date there. We walked through the Met, went up to the rooftop and saw a couple questionable sculptures while drinking overpriced champagne.
Oscar delightedly tossed back a Coke and I slurped down a Prosecco.
Oscar was a bit befuddled by this year's roof top art. I hate to admit it, but I agreed with him.
Oscar shoots out his straw wrapper at me, which is high entertainment when you are almost 10.
Down to Times Square.
After all this culture, Oscar just wanted a bowl of spaghetti. Not a problem.
To Matilda!
Oscar's 4th Broadway show. I think I saw my first at 12. Matilda was wonderful. Witty, cranky, and inspirational. Highly recommended. I am so grateful to my mother-in-law who swooped in the night before the Tonys were announced to get Oscar and I tickets for our birthdays.
We made our way home and met Evan, fresh off the plane.
Loretta and Jim (Evan's mom and step-dad, aka Gretta and Papa Jim in these pages) took him out to the Palm Too, one of their favorite NY joints for amazing margaritas and half-and-halfs and gigantic four-pound lobsters.
They brought me home half of a four pound lobster. After I smootched my husband, who I haven't seen in a week, I tucked in. It was grand.
The next morning we stuffed ourselves with Loretta's famous popovers, packed up a couple, and went across town to Riverside Park. There we met our friends who just had a baby boy, and as most of you know, when there are babies, I need to mack on them.
The baby was super adorable, and gurgling and happy in the best way. His parents were exhausted and elated and hopefully open to the Brockway+Metcalf advice for adding a baby to your household:
LOWER YOUR STANDARDS.
The baby is a Team Comics baby. All Team Comics babies are awesome.
Evan and I met Jim at Lincoln Center and saw MAN OF STEEL in IMAX 3-D. I was not disappointed in the movie. I was happy that it seemed to be a financial success for my husband's company. I enjoyed watching Henry Cavill drinking a Budweiser. (Heck, I enjoyed watching Henry Cavill doing anything.) I thought that all four parents were the emotional center of the movie, and it says something about what stage of life that I'm in that I identify with Superman's parents instead of Superman or Lois or Jimmy. I thought that it was a visual and audible triumph -- great work by talented art directors and composers.
I was a little disappointed that it wasn't the Superman that my kids pretend to be. It wasn't the Superman that I used to think was hopelessly old-fashioned and square until I had sons, and then that same Superman was my favorite superhero ever. He always did what was right, and he loved his mom.
But here's something about our family: my kids can tell you about sixteen versions of Santa Claus, and then tell you about our version of Santa Claus. (Comes Christmas Eve after the kids are asleep; snacks on cookies and a Budweiser; feeds a couple carrots to the reindeer; fills stockings and leaves presents under the tree.) They know that stories are old and elastic things, and everyone tells them differently, and that means that all of them are kinda true and all of them are entertaining. My seven-year-old son can tell you about four different versions of Batman and as far as he is concerned, they are all Batman. Our family knows that there are great stories, and creative people tell those stories in different ways. All of them are valid.
And MAN OF STEEL is an awesome movie in many ways, and although that Superman might not be our Superman, he is still Superman. And I love Superman. And I wept (seriously!) in line seeing almost a half of the crowd filtering out of previous showing and a similar amount in our showing wearing Superman shirts.
Truth, justice, and the American way. Yes.
Oscar and Evan and I said goodbye to Gretta and Papa Jim and took the train home. We were picked up by my folks and celebrated my birthday with another diner meal and a chocolate mousse cake from McKinney and Doyle.
Great post.....Jim and Loretta look great! Glad you had fun!
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