Thursday, December 11, 2008

Day Trip to Rockefeller Plaza, NYC

On Saturday we get nostalgic. There was a time when we could take the train into Penn Station whenever we wanted, with nothing but a small knapsack to keep track of. "Let's take the kids in to see the tree at Rockefeller Plaza." I say. Milk Man thinks it's a fine idea. After all, we went in with just Big Brother, and last year we took him and the princess to see the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular Show. Although we had a few more things to worry about, including a stroller, it went very smoothly.

Three children and an umbrella stroller on two trains, a subway and walking the crowded streets of Manhattan is, however, a whole different ball game altogether. Don't try this at home.

First we have an argument in the subway, trying to slide the kids through the turnstiles. I'm stuck between two metal bars and an alarm is sounding. "What do I do?" I ask. "Should I slide the metro card again?" Milk Man gets short with me, because the crowd is pushing past us, and I am irritable. "You have to be more flexible," he says. Whether he means figuratively or literally more flexible, I'm not sure, but nevertheless, I decide the comment warrants a Marital Cold War. I sop talking to him for blocks.

We do get to the tree, and take some pictures of the family.The crowd is so thick I suddenly understand why free range hens ARE happier. We do our best to navigate the stroller through the mob.

Eating is a blur. Then we're off to the American Girl store. How does one explain the American Girl craze? Multiply the fuss over Cabbage Patch dolls in the 1980's by one hundred, and that's what it is like. The line to get into the store, which is three floors, is all the way down the road to the Chase Manhattan building. Inside, there is a hospital for plastic people, and a hair salon, not for you, for the dolls. I'm completely serious. Employees dressed in white coats take your broken American Girl doll to the doll hospital. "These dolls better be stuffed with cash." I say, as the line inches forward toward the door. The princess is in doll glory overload, and thank goodness Grandma ordered the Biddy baby online, so it is coming for Christmas on Santa's sled. It is nice to breathe fresh air again when we exit that American Crazy Place.

It's true that Milk Man and I are ready for divorce court by the train ride home, as the day is a bit more stressful than we expected. However, the kids have a blast, despite their frazzled parents.

--on the train to Penn Station

At Rockefeller Plaza... and lunch was a blur. (As you probably realize, I don't post face shots of the kids on the blog to protect their privacy a bit.)


Putz said...

i observed that you went to see and observe a REAL once growing christmas tree that smells and everythig....does that mean that you are going to have areaql tree in your home???????

Loren Christie said...

No, Mr. Putz, we have a fake tree because Hell Hound likes to rub her big furry body all over the branches until the whole thing falls over. Then she howls to the moon like her wolf ancestors. When she kicks to bucket and the kids get a little older I will get a real one again.

Dear Internet Traveler,

Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.


Loren Christie

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