Like I said the last time*, Ted: Aim low

Things we did not manage to do on our weekend in *New York:

• See any sights, basically, at all.
• Go up any tall buildings, not counting the modest 8-storey apartment block we were staying in.
• Keep the children to their regular nap and bedtime schedules, as we do at home.
• Feed the children a wide variety of healthy foods, as we do at ... oh, wait.
• Have birthday cake for Mabel on her birthday - but we had it for breakfast the next morning instead, before rushing out to a playground to run off the sugar.
• Go into any shops on Fifth Avenue, or any shops at all, come to that, other than the giant toystore, FAO Schwartz.
• Get any closer to Central Park than the bottom right-hand corner, where FAO Schwartz just happens to be located.
• Leave FAO Schwartz without spending more than we'd bargained for.
• Avoid acquiring baby no. 15.
• Lose any children, so that's good.
• Spend more than ten minutes in MOMA before Mabel dissolved in a puddle of misery and starvation, with me not far behind her on both counts.
• Spot B running the marathon at either mile 8 in Brooklyn, where we first looked for him, or mile 22 in Harlem, where we looked second.
• See Dooce running the marathon at a somewhat slower pace than B.
• Get irretreivably sucked into what I'm sure is an infinite loop of elevators and platforms from which our train is not leaving in the Atlantic Avenue subway station in Brooklyn. 
• Find an elevator at the 14th St/Union Square subway station, though it was clearly marked as accessible on the maps. 
• Leave the city before 4pm on Sunday, though the marathon runner was back with us by 2.00.
• Not get snarled up in the perma-traffic exiting Manhattan by the Holland Tunnel.
• Not have a pretty good time, in spite of it all.

When we got back, I remarked to a temporarily awake Dash that sometimes one of the nicest parts about going away is coming home again. The older I get, the truer it is.