NYC successful...sort of.

We definitly enjoyed our tour de Manhattan with Marco. We ate at a fabulous restaurant just 4 minutes (walking) away from his place called Oust (West) Friday night. I had sturgeon for the first time. Yummy. We then woke up and jogged in Central Park around the Jackie O Reservoir. After walking back and picking up a free beach towel that they were giving away in the Park, we headed to brunch at as sweet little cafe complete with chocolate chip pancakes and omeletes. We made our way around Central Park, Times Square in search of a certain guitar playing cowboy (to no avail) and a good deal of the Upper West side. We ate infamous Magnolia cupcakes (which I think the frosting was too sugary) and finished our evening at a Spanish restaurant with paella all around. Not as good as Nester's, but it will do.  What was most interesting was the amount of babies and children we saw in Marco's neighborhood. Apparently it is comparable to a typical suburbia area. It was pretty lovely to say the least.    Robby on the other hand was having a hay-day charming the pants off of his grandparents. He laughed, he cried and he babbled their ears off with his official sounding and very important jargon around their house. They showed him off to neighbors and friends. They wore him out in various pools and parks. He slept soundly and enjoyed his stay. Thanks for praying if you did.  

Now here comes the "sort of" in our success criteria. We were meant to leave NYC at 5:50pm on a flight out of LaGuardia (which, if I may say, is a garbage of an airport) Sunday night and the flight was cancelled.  

Cancelled.  

Real nice talk. So we had to stay another night in the city while my parents had to bring him back to our house and I asked a few friends to take Robby Shifts during the day on Monday. I had to farm out my son for goodness sake. I was sure I was coming home to a sulking, depressed baby. He will hate me forever. He will feel abandoned and unloved. He will be scarred. Untrue. Let's talk about our greeting when we got back: a big smile, a sweet hug, and then immediate play back to the truck at hand. No jumping up and down. No crying. No longer than 30 seconds embrace. All is well, mom. Piece of cake. What's your deal? I really do love this age. It does sometimes seem like they have the memory of a goldfish. No offense, Robby,  I love you all the same. Here's some street performers as they busted a move or two.photo2.jpgMagnolia cupcakes....yummy.photo_3.jpgAnthropoligies are just part of our fun when the 3 of us are together.photo_4.jpgphoto_5.jpg