I am attempting the autopsy of my journey to NYC while nursing a hideous chocolate egg hang-over, so excuse any oversights or omissions. I have a sugar high and the creature invading my uterus is going bananas.
In a nutshell, the trip was fantastic. I created an itinerary packed with amazing activities all done at a reasonable pace for little girls and women who are eight-months pregnant. Do not plan a trip to NYC with your kids without e-mailing me for my tips. But, like any adventure there were lessons to be learned around every corner. Here are my few:
1) Leaving daddy-o at home? Bring a note!
The nice Customs Officer at the Toronto airport asked for a note. It suddenly occurred to me that there were actually TWO notes I should have had on hand – one from my doctor giving the OK to travel, and the other from daddy-o giving my permission to leave the country with his children. Of course, I had neither. I strategically held my carry-on bag over my baby guts, so figured I was going to have to do some quick thinking and fast talking about leaving the country with my girls. Although it is 2009, apparently Customs Officers expect mothers and children to have the same last name. Luckily when naming the children I predicted future travel issues so gave them all my last name as a middle name. Phew. I pointed that out to the Customs Officer who re-checked the passports and let us through. I would suggest that same last name or not, when traveling solo with the kiddos, have a note on hand to avoid any complications.
2) There is crap on the streets of NYC that kids will pick up and covet!
Every time I turned around, my six-year-old was playing with something shiny or putting a new barrette in her hair. Inevitably when asked the question, the response was “I found it on the street”. For any of you germ-phobia mamas, keep the hand sanitizer close by – the appeal of shiny things outweighed any concerns about the origins of street objects.
3) Don’t be so cocky as to think you are too smart, too feminist, too enlightened, too Canadian or too cheap to be able to visit the American Girl store and not buy as stupid doll.
Or in my case, two stupid dolls. Little girls transform into high pressure manipulation experts. I’m now convinced that if determined, my girls could convince the Pope to start doing lines of coke. Incidentally, a cocaine habit is likely less expensive than an American Girl habit.
I suppose the biggest lesson is that if you leave a three-year-old daughter at home, expect to catch some grief upon your return – especially if you neglect to bring home one of the stupid dolls for her. Don’t assume she’s too young to be clued into what went down. I’ll be paying the price for that one for a long time.
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