…began with little feet running across the apartment at crack o’ dawn and a little sleepy three year old who cuddled up beside me. After a week of telling him that he can now get out of his big boy bed when he wakes up (instead of waiting or calling for us like he did when he was in the crib), that was considered a success. I enjoyed my coffee in bed while admiring my Mother’s Day gift: a book in which the kids can color or write every year for Mother’s Day. Year one was adorable and included many Thomas the Train stickers. “Rheneas, it’s an emergency! Move over, Luke, get off the tracks.” This is what I hear. All. Day. Long.
I attempted to work out at home as I do every morning, but when I sent Arthur flying while kicking my leg back in some ambitious Pilates move, I gave up and shelved the work-out for later.
In the end I never got around to picking back up. Instead, we left the house in the morning and didn’t return until after dark, around 8:30pm. We rode our bikes to the Intrepid with a little lunch pit stop in between. I had been wanting to go to the Intrepid for a long time and really wanted to take Julian ever since he’s been interested in space shuttles. So we went, and it was huge, and I could have probably spent more time there, but to our boy it was “a little bit scary,” which it totally was. Also, everyone was tired.
We hung out at the Pier next to the Intrepid for a while, ate ice cream, and took off our shoes to let the grass tickle our feet. We also took Arthur’s pants off, but that’s where we stopped. No pants is only acceptable for those under, say, 23.
Then we had beers.
As soon as we got back on the bikes, both boys promptly fell asleep, heads bopping around. So we got creative:
Don’t call CPS. That’s what bungee cords were made for; trust me.
We rode to Madison Square Park and let the boys play at the playground. Then we stuffed our faces with Shake Shack burgers and fries.
We rode home over the Manhattan Bridge as the sun was setting, and it seemed like we were the only people on that bridge. Us and the rattling subways next to us. The boys were in heaven. And we shouted “Hello Brooklyn!” as we got to the other side.
We were sunburnt (just us adults because we are stupid), filthy, tired, and so so happy.
It was a perfect Mother’s Day.