Saturday we spent the morning at Prospect Park; we got lunch at the farmer’s market, set out a blanket on the Great Lawn, and just enjoyed being outside. Lucia and Andrew kicked a ball around; Lucia collected various things; Greta chewed on various things.
Saturday night, we bravely ventured out for dinner—not too far, of course, just to a nearby pizza place. It went pretty well, though as the meal progressed and the restaurant got busier, Lucia got a bit overexcited. Happily, this restaurant has a big window where kids can watch the pizzas being made, and the chefs hand over small balls of dough for the kids to play with. Of course, Lucia loved this.
We’d taken the double stroller, and Lucia refused to get on for the walk home, solidifying our resignation that we’re going to have to buy a “real” double stroller at some point (i.e., a stroller into which we can firmly strap an uncooperative child). By the time we got everyone home and bathed and in bed, we were exhausted. We both had a panic-inducing reality check when I pointed out that this day—variations on it, but more or less the same—is every day of our lives for at least the next two years. There. Is. No. Break. To. The. Madness.
Sunday, after relaxing at home for a while, we decided to drive out to Brighton Beach. It was a gorgeous day; but by the water it was windy and chilly, so we only sat on the sand for a little while. We again braved a restaurant and had a Russian lunch at a restaurant on the boardwalk. We sat outside despite the wind, and both Lucia and Greta were completely mellow for the whole meal. Andrew ordered a beer and actually was able to enjoy it. Of course, as soon as he said, “I could sit here all day!” both girls remembered who they were and began fussing (Greta) and whipping napkins into the air (Lucia) and we quickly got the bill.