The themes for last weekend were snow and vomit. Saturday morning's snowstorm ironically resulted in a VERY early morning decision to cancel the bigs' ski day and, just like that, my mellow day alone with Hank went up in flames (or down in ice). Since they were already dressed for skiing, Kevin, B & O went out to frolic in the early morning winter wonderland. Henry bizarrely refused to put on pants so he missed out on the snow soccer and snow angels action. Later that morning, I took B & O to the New Museum to see the Carsten Holler show. This is a marathon trek from our place, and by the time we got off the subway downtown, my early-rising little darlings were officially pooped. As we set off into the snow, Owen actually let out a primal scream before semi-sheepishly declaring "I'M HUNGRY." I frantically found a place to eat that wasn't crawling with hipsters before they both weakly collapsed in the snow, and spirits quickly improved.
Post-lunch, we finally made our way over to the museum, signed our waivers, opted to skip the alternate-reality goggles, and made our way to the fourth floor, admiring the elevator video installations on the way. We rode the carousel first, which spins so slowly as to be almost unnoticeable, and admired ourselves in its many mirrored surfaces. Owen then decided to brave the two-story slide (the museum cut holes in its floors for a giant tube slide to travel from the fourth to the second floor, extremely cool) but Brendan was having none of it. So Owen strapped on a helmet, learned the appropriate slide position (elbows in, feet in gunnysack), and B and I hustled down to the second floor to greet him at the bottom. We immersed ourselves (literally) in the aquarium, passed on the more-adult-oriented "experience corridor," and headed back up again for Owen to take a second ride down the slide. Owen impressed one of the security guards on our way back upstairs with his astute observations about the experiential nature of the installation ("it's cool because you go really slow on the carousel and then really FAST on the slide!") When we went back upstairs a THIRD time, B screwed up his courage enough to finally try it. They made me go first, so I could wait at the bottom for them, and as I'm standing there waiting for him to come down, I see the guard talking on his walkie-talkie. Sure enough, poor B panicked and had to be escorted down the stairs in tears. His mood was probably not helped by Owen carrying on about how the slide was the funnest thing ever, not at all scary, right mommy?, and and so on. We slogged back through the snow to the subway, where they drooped against the subway pole and I spent the ride shooting dagger-eyes at the seated 20-something man doing his very best not to make eye contact and keeping over-excited eight-year-old girls from crushing my children against the doors.
Sunday kicked off with the boys dragging their armchairs into our "foyer" to listen to Kevin's old Star Wars record on their killer FP record player (an ebay score by Kevin for Christmas this year). Henry passed the time perched on a chair next to them, intently flipping through Sports Illustrated in search of football pictures (meaning pictures of actual footballs). We herded them out the door early for a quick outing to Brooklyn to meet our friends' adorable new(ish) baby twins. As we cruised down the West Side Highway, all of a sudden I heard a horrifyingly LIQUID sound from the backseat. I reluctantly turned around to see poor Hank spectacularly puking just RIVERS of peach smoothie and fresh raspberries. Amid tears from Henry and dramatic nose-holding from his brothers, we turned around and headed home for an unexpected mid-morning bath. A few puke-laundry-loads later, we raced off to the boys' first ice skating class. The rink was madness, complete and utter pandemonium but skating was very cute. The boys and their friend M were wildly punchy afterwards, and getting them from the rink to the road was like herding three very hyperactive golden retrievers, although with even less concern for their own safety. Our post-skating playdate was followed by the best, most-sanity-saving 6-mile run ever, although the wintry magic of Central Park made me feel vaguely guilty about letting the first (and possibly only) real snow of the year pass us by without going sledding. At bedtime, O talked obsessively about the Super Bowl (he had just watched the first quarter of the Giants-49ers game). B again proposed that I sleep in his room instead of mine. This time, he suggested we put in a second set of bunk beds in their room for both Kevin and me. After some discussion, we agreed that if we implemented his plan, we would then have no choice but to turn our bedroom into a disco for dance parties.
At lunch, showing off their "hungry" faces (and Owen's spectacular case of hat head).
The carousel:
The aquarium bed:
Star Wars breakfast:
Henry enjoying the weeks' sports coverage:
I just don't understand WHY he ended up puking, surely his eating habits aren't to blame:
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